


Waking Up from a Dream

by orphicsheep



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Ending, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Friendship, M/M, Multi, Party Banter, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphicsheep/pseuds/orphicsheep
Summary: Set during Awakening, Velanna is the newest addition to the Grey Wardens and receives a warm welcome from Sigrun and Nathaniel, but Anders is not so keen. Brought together by danger and darkspawn, the Wardens bond between missions, but the Architect threatens to destroy it all.





	1. The Wending Woods

**Author's Note:**

> (Right, so! First chapter is a bit heavy on exposition, I know, feel free to skip ahead to Ch. 2 for Sigrun/Velanna, or Ch. 3 on for more Anders/Nathaniel, you won't miss too much, I just wanted to set the scene and get the hang of writing from Velanna's POV.)

"Velanna... would you like to take the lead?" The Warden-Commander asked, standing at the doorway to the Silverite Mines. They had already taken her to see the pit, shown her the talking darkspawn, the blighted victims, the error of her ways. They had spent hours, wandering the Wending Woods in search of clues, in search of any lead that might take them to the heart of the woods, the source of the darkspawn infiltration and, she hoped, her sister, Seranni. 

Velanna gazed, wide-eyed, at the Commander, unable to conceal her surprise.

“You want me to lead your men?” She asked. Everything that had happened that day had been a surprise to her. The Grey Wardens appearing, their taking her side, their trusting her to join them after she… after she… all those humans… all that blood… a shiver ran through her. She wondered if she would ever stop shaking. Still, she knew where she was, and what lowering her guard meant in the Wending Woods, when hundreds of darkspawn were at large. She had to steel herself, she had to demonstrate the iron resolve of the Dalish, if she were going to rescue Seranni—or else avenge her death.

“And women,” Sigrun piped up. 

“You seem a capable mage, and you know these woods better than we do,” the Commander explained. “Why shouldn’t you lead the way?”

Anders, who was standing at her shoulder, tugged on her arm. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea? She did just try to kill us, in case you weren’t paying attention.”

“I trust her,” the Commander responded, resolutely, with such conviction it made Velanna flush a shade paler. Why her? Why should the Warden-Commander trust her, of all people, to lead them? The last time she had led a party they had all died or disappeared, never to be seen again. She had just discovered her entire ‘reign of vengeance’ had been founded on a mistake, a misunderstanding, and all the blood she spilled was spilled in vain. The darkspawn had tricked her, and she had led countless men and women to their doom, all the while believing she was in the right, that the people she killed deserved it, that she was an avenging angel, a vigilante. Now she knew the truth and yet… the Commander still trusted her? They may have both been elves, but they were not of the same Clan, and Velanna could not think up a single logical explanation for why the Commander should leap so quickly to her defence.

 _'Because they’re desperate, and have nothing left to lose,'_ was the only answer she could think of. Had she any right to judge them, when she was just as desperate? She had never turned to outsiders for help before. 

Anders rolled his eyes and looked to Nate.

"Can you believe this!" He sighed, but Nathaniel ignored him. He was too busy gazing thoughtfully at Velanna, looking her over. 

_‘Sizing me up,’_ she thought. _‘At least they have sense enough to be suspicious.’_ She did not want their trust. It was a gift she never asked for. She had no need of their approval.

"I trust her, too. I would be honoured to follow you, my lady." He said, quite unexpectedly, even giving her a brief bow. If possible, she grew even paler. Her eyes widened, and she sniffed, indignantly. What was he doing? A human noble—even one who had clearly fallen on hard times, as his clothes attested—had no reason to call her 'my lady' and bow, like she was a human woman. She knew what elves were to humans. She knew how they scorned them. She presumed he had an ulterior motive, like all the others. Anders presumed much the same thing, raising a brow and looking at Howe with something akin to wonder.

"Just because a pretty girl bats her eyes at you and says she misses her sister, you think that justifies the slaughter of _hundreds_ of innocent men?" He asked, taken aback. It had always been his place, in the past, to flirt outrageously with every woman they met, even condemned criminals, but… _this was Nate,_ sweet, innocent, generally on the lawful-side-of-neutral Nate! It was out of character. He was concerned.

"None of us are innocent,” Howe replied. Anders mouth dropped open. He had seen the bodies! He had seen the burnt out camps and caravans! He had seen the dancing killer trees she tried to murder them with! This went well beyond a ‘we all make mistakes,’ one-size-fits-all style moral excuse.

"Don't think I've forgotten about the time you tried to assassinate our gracious Commander. I'm keeping my eye on you. And so is... and so is Ser..." Anders suddenly began to panic. "Where is Ser Pounce-a-lot?!" He cried, like a child who had lost his favourite toy.

"You left him at Vigil's Keep, remember?" The Commander reminded him, gently tapping him on the shoulder. He instantly calmed down.

"We're wasting time! Let's go," Sigrun called out, then turned to Velanna, smiling warmly. "Orders, Boss?"

Velanna sized up the door before them. It looked fairly secure, and it was impossible to guess what was waiting for them behind it, but just this once… the boldest path seemed the safest.

"Someone needs to pick the lock, or else break down the door," she began. Her first command. To her surprise, the Wardens actually listened to her.

"As you wish, my lady.” Howe said, electing himself the best rogue for the job. Sigrun excelled at picking pockets, but Nate was the resident expert when it came to picking locks—he always kept a small kit of lockpicking equipment on his person, for particularly troublesome locks and chests. 

Anders crossed his arms and rolled his eyes at 'my lady,' but put it down to Nate's noble upbringing. Nobles have these things hammered into them—how to be chivalrous and gallant, the perfect gentleman. Anders' people had been simple peasants, farmers even. Apart from common courtesies, like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and holding the door open, deferential treatment was unnecessary, and peasants seldom went in for gallantry. In the Circle, you were expected to be respectful to Senior Enchanters, but otherwise... anything went. If you called a woman 'my lady,' she would simply laugh at you. Velanna may have been pretty, but… he could not get past the smell of the corpses. All he wanted was for this mission to be over with as soon as possible, so he could go home to the Keep and take a long hot bath, have a nice warm supper, and pretend none of this ever happened.

The door opened, and there were no darkspawn to greet them, so they intrepidly ventured in. Sigrun and the Commander, as the most heavily armed members of the party, went first, one on either side of Velanna. Anders and Nathaniel followed a few paces behind. 

“It’s quiet. Too quiet. I think they’re up to something,” Anders whispered.

“Who?” Howe asked, without looking back, without meeting his eye.

“The Empress of Orlais!” Anders replied, rolling his eyes. “Maker! It’s a good thing you’re pretty. Clearly Delilah is the only one in your family with a working brain.”

He met his eyes now. Anders knew ‘Delilah’ was a magic word; it was the only word powerful enough to catch Howe’s attention. He tried to look cross, but was smiling inside, rejoicing in his minor victory. Now if only he could find a way to gaze into those lovely blue eyes without the accompanying glare of disapproval.

“I bet you fifty silvers it’s a trap,” Anders continued.

“I don’t gamble,” Nathaniel shot back. Anders noticed him take out and ready his bow all the same, and was grateful. He knew if they were attacked at close quarters, he would be the first to fall. He was beginning to regret all the times he could have asked the Commander for lessons in self-defence, but decided to take a nap instead.

“What do you call following two wanted apostates, a dead dwarf, and a legendary dragon-slayer into an abandoned mineshaft?” He asked, one brow raised. Howe frowned, but maintained focus. Velanna, always so alert, always so aware, was the first to step into their trap. In the confusion which followed, several more were trampled, unleashing a hoard of darkspawn. Anders scarcely had time to shout: “I told you so,” before he was struck about the head with the blunt side of an axe. He could almost swear the last thing he saw was Howe rushing to his side, calling out his name… or perhaps that was only the start of another bad dream.

 

 

***

 

 

They were prisoners. When they awoke, however, there were no guards to be seen. Anders awoke with a start, and as soon as he saw the bars began to panic. He was having flashbacks to the Circle, to the cell where the Templars kept him, to an entire year spent in solitary… the scene before him eventually came into focus, and he recognized a long familiar face glide into view. 

“Are you alright, Anders?” Nathaniel asked, throwing down the lock he had just picked and swinging open the door. Anders blinked up at him until he swam into shape. It was Nathaniel alright… only he had called him by his name, which did not seem right. Maybe it was an imposter. Maybe he was still dreaming. He almost sounded _concerned._ There was only one way to find out… he tried to move and felt a shock of pain course through his head, where that darkspawn’s axe had struck him across the back of the head. He swore revenge. He swore in more traditional ways, too, uttering a cacophony of obscenities under his breath. Howe had clearly heard worse in the Marches. He extended a hand which Anders warily accepted, and helped him to his feet. 

“Why Howe, I didn't know you cared!" Anders answered lightly, before taking in his surroundings. It looked like every other grim dungeon and left him unimpressed. This was not how he had expected to spend his day when the Warden-Commander invited him for a pleasant stroll through the woods.

“Are you hurt?” Nathaniel clarified. Anders realised, a bit late, that he was still holding Nathaniel’s hand and abruptly let go, shaking his head.

“Just a headache. I’m sure I have a poultice to…” his hand went to the pocket where he usually kept poultices and found there was not a pocket at all. He was dressed in rags instead of his usual robe, and all of his things were gone, his staff, his poultices, his potions… everything. He thanked the Maker he had the good sense to leave Ser Pounce-a-lot behind this time. “Those bastards!”

“The darkspawn, or… their servants, took all our things,” Howe informed him. He did not sound very upset, but why should he be upset? What did he have that was worth stealing? Besides that precious bow of his, he had no sense of style. If anything, the rags their captors gave him in lieu of his shabby leather armor was an improvement. Now genuine Tevinter Robes, and a finely-crafted staff? Those were much harder to replace.

“Their _servants_?”

“Blighted humans… don’t ask me how, or why, I'm just the messenger.”

The Commander was already at liberty—Howe must have freed her first. _'Warden’s pet,'_ Anders thought. _'Of course he would save her first.'_ Velanna and Sigrun were both locked in the same cell. Nathaniel took up his tools and set to work on their lock.

“Sigrun’s wounded!” The Commander exclaimed when she caught sight of her, rushing forward and threading her fingers through the bars. Sigrun had a bloody gash in her right arm, and a couple of bad bruises across her face. Velanna looked unscathed, although she had been one of the first to fall. Sigrun had been the last, and put up a fight. Anders could not have been more proud of her, even if that meant she had won the most trophy scars.

 

***

 

Velanna started awake, eyes wide, gaze glassy. Her robes were gone, as was her staff. She did not want to contemplate who or… what… had removed them, and replaced them with these filthy rags. The end result remained the same: they were still trapped underground in a dank, dark dungeon, with no idea who was holding them there or what they wanted. 

“Anders, she needs healing! Now!” The Commander barked. Sigrun was one of her best, and she knew it. They all knew it. 

As soon as Nathaniel picked the lock, Anders was at her side, murmuring the words to a healing spell under his breath and bathing her in a gentle, warm light, weaving the wound closed with magic. Velanna watched with mounting concern, then went pale and had to look away. She had never been any good at healing magic, relying instead on her natural proficiency for herbalism. Anders, however… was a natural. Maybe there was a reason the Warden-Commander had brought her foolish pet mage along, after all. When she felt certain that Sigrun was safe and would recover, she was finally able to breathe again, and eased herself up onto her feet. She had failed her first mission, her first attempt to prove herself as a leader, by allowing one of her soldiers to get injured, and leading them all into a darkspawn trap. This must have been what it felt like when young apprentices set out to prove themselves hunters and join their ranks, only to return empty-handed from the hunt. She had not just failed the Wardens—she had failed Seranni.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Sigrun asked.

Velanna sniffed and raised her head. She was a whole head taller than the dwarf, who looked less intimidating without all her heavy armor and swords. More... approachable. It also helped that she was no longer covered in darkspawn blood.

“Your sister. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? We’ll find her. I know we will. We’ve got the Hero of Ferelden on our side.” She was trying to reassure her. She was trying to be nice. Velanna was at a loss, not knowing how to respond. She was not used to sympathy. She surveyed the dungeon a second time, to see if there was anything they might use to help them escape. The longer she looked, the more hopeless it seemed. She wished she had the dwarf’s confidence.

“What’s your name?” They had not been formally introduced. Sigrun was too busy clearing a path through the woods when the rest of the Wardens ran into Velanna, and had received the abridged version of events from the Commander upon her return.

“Sigrun, at your service! Legionnaire Scout and Grey Warden.” She offered her hand. Velanna tactfully ignored it, and Sigrun withdrew the offer with a light shrug, nonplussed. Anders’ spell had worked a charm, or else she was smiling through her pain. Velanna looked her over, thoughtfully. There was something about her deep brown eyes, dark hair, darker lips, tattoos that looked like runes, and enduring smile, which made Velanna unable to tear her eyes away. 

“Velanna,” she answered, feeling less remarkable because she could not, in good faith, follow her name with any title or job-description. She had once been apprentice to the Keeper, and had always thought, when the Keeper passed on, she would inherit her title. Now that their was no clan to ‘keep,’ the title felt false. What was she now besides a glorified hedgewitch with a Dalish education? Her clan had always protected her from Templars, but she knew now, if she ever survived to see a world beyond the Wending Wood, they would hunt her like any other apostate, perhaps even try to bring her to a Circle. She had heard stories about Circles. She would rather have her woods, and her freedom.

Still, if they were destined to die in these mines… she could think of worse people to spend her last moments with then this gang of misfits. She had always been a misfit herself, even among her clan. They teased her for her preposterously large ears, her preoccupation with gardening, her collection of shiny green rocks and trinkets, her reclusive nature… in short, they were dreadful bullies, but she bore it all gracefully because at the end of the day they were still a family, sworn to protect each other. And now… now she had no family, but for whatever reason, the Wardens had volunteered to accept her into theirs. She would get them out of that prison if it was the last thing she did.

Unarmed and dressed in rags, they managed to battle their way out of the prison, where they were attacked by automatons who bore their likeness and tried to use their own weapons and spells against them. They outwitted the look-a-likes, retrieved their arms and armor, and moved onward, until they ran into Seranni herself. Velanna refused, at first sight, to trust her own eyes. When she rushed forward to embrace her, Seranni ordered her to stay where she was. It was already too late for her—the Blight had taken her, and tainted her blood. If Velanna came too close, she might become infected, too. Seranni still did not understand, herself, quite how the curse worked—only that she had the Architect to thank for keeping her alive. She gave Velanna a key and told her to escape while there was still time.

Before they could, they met the Architect himself. He seemed… amused by their escape attempt, less than cheated. The ‘Architect’ was a speaking, sentient darkspawn, and the one responsible for their clones. He was ‘crafting’ darkspawn of his own, and even recruiting to his 'cause' sympathetic mortals—by which he probably meant mortals blighted beyond hope, who chose to serve him and became little more than darkspawn themselves, rather then accept death. Velanna could not bare the thought of Seranni being one of his servants, but when she called to her, as she stood beside him, smiling, when she begged her to run… Seranni had simply shook her head, saying: _“You don’t know what life is, Velanna, until you have seen the Dark City. Let go of them, or let go of me; death is not so terrible as you think.”_

The Architect sent two dragons to hold them at bay while they made their escape. Velanna watched them go, with a strange falling feeling in the pit of her stomach. That looked like Seranni, but it was not her sister. It was just another shell, another puppet, like the puppets of themselves they were forced to fight in the caverns. Velanna had found it so easy to strike down herself, so why was it she could not let go of an illusion? Why did she still cling to the idea that the darkspawn who spoke to her was the sister she had spent years searching for? This had all been a trap, all of it; the Architect used her sister, and her love for her sister, against her. He used her to bring him the Grey Wardens, unknowingly, and to steal—or attempt to steal—her magic. He would, if he had his way, turn her into a blighted puppet, the way he had transformed her sister. Once the horror lifted, she felt only rage; pure, hot rage, like flames, boiling just below the surface. She unleashed all her fury, all her dashed hopes, all her tears and anger and despair and guilt, and channeled it into her magic. The first thing you learn as a mage is discipline and focus. You are taught that control and clarity are the greatest assets any mage can possess. Yet when a mage gives way to passion, when they lose themselves utterly to its fire, they become an unstoppable force. She looked to either side of her, and found, to her surprise, she was not alone. The Grey Wardens stood beside her, swords, bows, and staves drawn and ready. Those dragons had no idea what was about to hit them.


	2. Witches & Wardens

They had now met the Architect, and now knew who to blame for the sudden uprising of darkspawn. Velanna's sister—or, a tainted darkspawn which had once been Velanna's sister— had given them his name, and they knew he was in charge of a darkspawn army, but they knew little else. They had been taken prisoner by these sentient, speaking darkspawn, and been forced to fight their way out of makeshift cells in the mining caverns beneath the woods. They had been forced to fight illusions, darkspawn copies, of themselves, and two dragons. And now... they were setting up camp, as they had a hundred times, and the woods were still and silent save for a chorus of crickets, and it was as if none of that had just happened. As if there were no looming threat of a second blight teetering overhead, like an axe waiting to drop. 

Velanna sat alone in front of the fire with her legs crossed. Sigrun, having just finished her supper, walked over to join her, bowl and spoon still in hand. The bonfire crackled and the flames danced. Velanna gazed into the flames, which soothed and mesmerized her.

"Are you cold?" Sigrun asked, noticing her bare feet. Sigrun was cold. There was a chill in the air that day. It was Autumn, but Winter was already fast approaching. She hoped this would all be over by Winter. Everyone went on about how dark the Deep Roads were, but the usually forgot to mention how impossibly cold they were in Winter.

Velanna shook her head. She was used to the elements, to the cold, to the feeling of bare earth beneath her feet and the wind against her skin.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" Sigrun observed, trying to make conversation. With Velanna, that was always a difficult task. She set down the bowl of stew and sat down on a log across from Velanna's, then looked up at the sky. A million stars stared back at them.

"My favourite part about leaving Orzhammer is the stars. For the first 25 years of my life, I didn't even know what stars were! I sometimes think our scholars kept them a secret on purpose. Everyone would want to go topside, at least for a day, just to see them, just to have one look at the sky on a clear night... and there's no going back. The Commander saw me climbing a tree just to get a closer look—that's why she got me this telescope, the one I always keep with me... but I know my family would say I was stolen by the sky, and lost sight of the stone." Sigrun was rambling, and she knew it. She always rambled when she was nervous, or when it was too quiet. She bit her lip, looked away. Hesitantly, she asked: "I'm boring you, aren't I?" 

Velanna, to her surprise, shook her head. She gazed fixedly at Sigrun. The fire had a strange effect on her, casting a glamour over her features. The thick, boxy tattooes painted across her face blended together into deep shadows, obscuring half her face, and only serving to make her wide, shimmering eyes stand out all the more. 

"Not at all. Go on," she insisted, even surprising herself as she spoke. As a proud Dalish elf, she has no interest at all in the history, customs, and culture of humans, but dwarves... baffled her. So much of her life and religion revolved around the worship of Nature, which they shared in common with dwarves, but she could not imagine a life devoid of trees and flowers and rivers and sunlight and halla and stars. When Sigrun spoke like this, she felt a little ashamed of having taken those things for granted, and presuming they were within everyone's reach. "Why can't surface dwarves go back?"

"Oh, it's a tradition thousands of years old! Dwarves belong to the stone, and dwarves stay within the 'protective embrace' of the stone. Those who venture topside, well... they're 'contaminated,' and traitors to the stone. Too much open air gets in their lungs, they forget their ancestors, the moonlight drives them mad... you know how it is."

"So they can't go back... because they might bring sickness with them?"

"The only 'sickness' topsiders could bring is temptation. They tempt otherwise happy and contented, well-behaved dwarves with their stories—that’s why they’re so dangerous. That’s why they try to keep outsiders out, and if you must leave all the joy of Deep Road diving behind you... they take away your family name, your caste, and lock the door behind you. There's no going back. It's like joining the Wardens! Or the Legion. Your path is set for life." 

"The Legion," Velanna repeated, considering the word. Someone else—Nathaniel, was it?—had mentioned in passing that Sigrun belonged not only to the Wardens but to the Legion of the Dead. Then someone made a joke Velanna did not understand, and Sigrun had burst into laughter. She laughed with her whole body, and smiled so brightly, that Velanna had committed the image to memory, even if she had forgotten the words. She tried in vain to recall them now. "What, exactly, is the Legion of the Dead?”

Sigrun gave a long, exhausted sigh. It seemed like all she ever did, since joining the Wardens, besides fight darkspawn, was explain dwarven traditions and symbols to baffled elves and humans who could not get their heads around them.

"The Legion is where dwarves go to win honour and glory in the Deep Roads, where we fight to the death!” Sigrun knew the sales pitch like the back of her hand. She had seen too many poor fools fall for it, because they were dusters with no where to go in life but further down, and the Legion used this to their advantage.

Velanna had heard of the Deep Roads, but never been there. If it was anything like the caverns they explored in the Wending Woods… she was not looking forward to exploring them.

"Why must you die?" She asked with some apprehension. She did not like the gleeful way Sigrun could sometimes speak of death and dying. It worried her. 

"To win honour and glory! Why, what do the Dalish do?"

"We... survive, or try to. Our hunters win glory by fighting with honour, but... why should they seek death? We are taught the Creators give us life for a reason."

"Most join because they have been exiled, or disinherited, and have nothing left to lose.” She hoped, with all her might, Velanna would not ask for the whole story. She was not in the mood to dwell on bad memories. 

"Do you have... nothing left to lose?" Velanna asked, furrowing her brows. This was all quite alien to her, everything about Sigrun and the world she came from was alien to her, but... she wanted to know more. She lived for stories. But she saw the look on Sigrun's face, as her frown deepened and she gazed despondently into the flames of the campfire, and wondered if perhaps, just this once, it was better to leave her curiousity unsatisfied, for Sigrun’s benefit.

Sigrun bit her lip and shook her head, defiantly.

"Not now, no. I have darkspawn to kill, and blights to end, and a world to save, and... they may not seem like much, to you, but I've made friends here. Please... give them a chance. I know that we didn't give you the best first impression, but... we're alright once you get to know us," Sigrun insisted, speaking now on behalf of the rest of the Wardens. 

Velanna was silent for a time, considering Sigrun's words.

"Do you miss your friends? Your Clan?"

"We were family, all of us. In the Clan... we are all brothers and sisters. I..." her voice caught. "I miss Seranni most of all, but... I never had many friends. The Keeper always kept me close, always kept me busy. This is new to me."

"What, friendship?" Sigrun asked, cocking her head to one side and smiling, but it was a gentle smile. She was not teasing her; she was trying to understand.

"I think... I think I would like to be your friend," Velanna declared. 

"You've got it!" Sigrun said, offering her right hand. Velanna had no idea what to do, and simply looked, startled, at her hand. This had happened before.

"You shake it," Sigrun insisted, behind the back of her left hand. Velanna lifted her hand up from the log and let it hand in the air, mirroring Sigrun's own, and Sigrun took it up and shook it gently, then released it. Velanna frowned. 

"What's the point of that?" She asked. 

"It means we're friends, now!" Sigrun explained. Velanna nodded slowly. 

"Why are your hands so cold?" She asked, and Sigrun shrugged.

"It's cold out?"

"Mine aren't. Come closer," Velanna insisted. Sigrun hesitated for a moment before standing up and walked over to join Velanna on her overturned log. Velanna, after asking permission, took up her hand, and whispered beneath her breath a fire spell. Her own hands began to glow softly, warming them both in a wave of gentle heat.

“Thank you very much!" Sigrun said, smiling as she looked up into those wide, green, owlish eyes. Velanna was focusing on her hands, and the spell, and avoided Sigrun's gaze. Sigrun took the opportunity to lean closer and, catching Velanna unaware, kissed her cheek. Velanna, surprised, went: "Oh!" and let go of Sigrun's hand, abruptly cutting off the spell. Sigrun, with a cheeky grin, hopped off the log and onto her feet, then raced off to her own tent. Velanna watched her go, blushing profusely. She may have been new to making friends, but wondered if it was common among friends to steal kisses. She would have to ask the Commander tomorrow, or else consult a book. She had been reliably informed Vigil Keep was full of books. Maybe joining the Wardens would not be so terrible, after all. 

 

***

 

The Wardens return to Vigil's Keep was uneventful. Regular patrols around its border had kept the main roads largely free of darkspawn, at least during the day. Night seemed to be their element, and they would spread more quickly, and in greater numbers, shortly after sunset. By nightfall they had already reached the relative safety of Vigil Keep's fortress walls, which were being fortified before their eyes. Upon their return, a Joining ceremony was performed to welcome Velanna into the Grey Wardens. She may have looked lithe and delicate, but she took the darkspawn blood-filled goblet and drank it as if it were nothing more than a heady glass of wine. It took a few minutes before she lost consciousness. 

When she awoke, she found herself alone in a tent. She tentatively rose and edged forward, to peel back the doorway and look out beyond it.

Sigrun was seated just outside her tent, sharpening one of her blades, apparently chosen to 'keep watch' on their newest recruit. Velanna frowned at her, head still spinning. Her head ached, and she could not erase from her memory the gaping, fanged mouth of the dragon in her nightmare... she shivered.

Sigrun looked up from her work and shot her a carefree smile.

"Rise and shine, Warden!" 

"I... survived?" 

"Does this look like the Fade?" Sigrun replied airily, followed by: "No really, does it? I've never been."

"Dwarves don't dream?" Velanna asked, blinking sleep from her eyes.

Sigrun shook her head.

"Only when we're awake," she answered, blasé as ever. "Why? Are the nightmares really as bad as they say?"

"Worse. I saw them attacking Vigil's Keep, a huge swarm, and at their helm... that monster, the Architect, only he transformed into a dragon before my eyes, and he..." she suddenly found herself at a loss for words. Sigrun reached out and lightly touched her shoulder.

"It's okay! It was only a dream. You're safe here. You're a Warden now, and we always look after our own." Velanna bit her lip and nodded. She hated appearing this weak, this vulnerable, before anyone, least of all someone she scarcely knew, but something about Sigrun's easy-going manner made her easy to talk to, easy to confide in, easy to... trust. It had been so long before she had met anyone she thought she could really trust, really open up to. What would her sister say if she could see her now? She would probably tease her, she would probably say...

"I'm a fool," Velanna muttered under breath. "I shouldn't have let those dreams go to my head and scare me. I won't let it happen again."

"Everyone gets scared, sometimes. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay. Not for me."

"Why is it ‘not okay for you’?” Sigrun asked, mimicking her voice, and doing a poor job of it.

"I'm not here for myself. I'm on a mission. I must avenge my sister and my Clan." 

"Velanna... we're all here for a reason. But I'll help you, if I can. If you ever feel afraid... you can come to me. I would never hold it against you. Even the bravest warriors get scared sometimes. Now go get some more rest while you can, it will be hours before the others wake up."

Velanna nodded, cautiously. She turned around and took two steps closer to her open tent before pausing to turn and face Sigrun, looking her over. She had probably stayed up all night watching Velanna's tent. It did not seem fair. 

"Sigrun..." She called out, faintly, testing the name, turning it over and examining it in her head. She decided she liked it. "What if I have another nightmare, and can't sleep?"

"Oh, I could see if Anders has a herb or spell to help you sleep..."

Anders was the last person she wanted to see, or think of, now. All the way back from Wending Woods the healer had flirted shamelessly with her. She had thought, at first, it was because he was trying to cheer her up, but the look of glee on his face whenever she lost her temper gave his game away quickly enough. He was only trying to make her mad.

"I think I'd sleep better if you were with me."

"You... think I...?" Sigrun stammed, a little confused. She must have misheard her. There was no way the wild and beautiful Dalish mage she was guarding would... there had to be some misunderstanding here.

"You don't have to. It was just an idea. I'd be very grateful."

Sigrun clamped her mouth shut and took to her feet. Velanna was still much taller than her. Velanna nodded, went to her tent, unfolded her bedroll, and slipped inside. Sigrun followed, tentatively, a few paces behind.

"Where do you want me to sit?" Sigrun asked.

"Lie down here with me," Velanna insisted, tapping a place on the bedroll beside her. Sigrun reluctantly acquiesced. Velanna brought the blanket over her shoulder, and turned on her side facing right. Sigrun laid down beside her, gingerly, so as not to disturb her or the blanket. Velanna closed her eyes and lay so still she might already have been fast asleep. She turned to face her left, and laid down her head against her folded hands.

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" She remarked with a sigh. 

"Hold me," Velanna instructed.

"What?”

"You said we were friends. In my Clan, on cold nights..."

"Oh, right. It's an elf-thing. Why do I ask?" Sigrurn turned over and wrapped her arms around Velanna's waist. It was not uncomfortable, and Velanna was warmer than her, and light as a feather. Sigrun closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

"You're very beautiful," Velanna said, after several minutes of silence, when Sigrun had nearly drifted off. That shook her awake. 

"What was that?"

"I just thought I'd mention it."

"I'm dreaming."

"You said dwarves don't?"

"Well, I'm the first. Go to sleep!"

"Does it... offend you, to be called beautiful?"

"Why should it offend me? Everyone likes being called beautiful!"

"By another woman. By an elf. By... me."

"Velanna... I'm too tired to speak Dalish. If you want to sleep with me, just say so."

Velanna turned onto her back and pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Isn't that what we're doing now?"

"No. No, the kind I meant... starts with kissing."

"I liked it when you kissed me."

"No, not like that..." Sigrun sat up, too, and leant forward, kissing Velanna gently on the lips. She figured it was the only way to shut her up. "Like this.”

"But you are beautiful! And so strong," Velanna observed, reaching out to run her hand over Sigrun's well-defined shoulder, then trailed it down her bicep. "Kiss me again."

"Oh no, this is the darkspawn blood talking, you don't know—" Sigrun started, but Velanna cut her off.

"In my Clan, if you like someone, you ask for a kiss. We don't waste time, like humans do, with all their endless rituals!" She explained.

"I... you really like me?" Sigrun asked, genuinely mystified.

"I feel so safe at night when I know you’re protecting me. I feel so glad, when I wake, and yours is the first face I see." Velanna said, lightly taking hold of her cheek, raising her face so their eyes met.

Sigrun hesitated for a long moment, weighing her options, then kissed her again. When she pulled away, she slid the blanket over her shoulder and lay down, her back turned to Velanna, and tried to sleep. Velanna, a little disappointed, turned the other way, and soon fell asleep herself. She was glad to find, when she awoke the following morning, that Sigrun had returned to her side, with her arms woven around her waist. She gave the sleeping Sigrun's cheek a quick kiss, then slid out of her arms and out of bed, and began dressing herself. She left the tent at dawn and returned an hour or so later to find Sigrun still fast asleep.

She placed some wildflowers beside her pillow she picked herself, shook dry her hair, then set to work preparing breakfast. Sigrun woke and groggily took in her bearings. 

"Where am I?" She asked. Then, after she nearly squished them, she noticed the flowers. Traces of last night’s conversation slowly flooded back to her. "You brought me flowers?" Sigrun asked, a little startled. Velanna had been serious after all! She stifled a laugh. All the dusters who had tried to catch her eye in the past had never gone in for romantic gifts and gestures. She had to admit it felt nice. In the Legion you were not allowed to own anything, so no one gave gifts. It felt... nice, to be given something, to be thought of, to be remembered. 

"What's next? Breakfast in bed? Someone might think you're trying to court me."

Velanna walked back into the tent, tray in hand.

"No, you'll have to get out of bed to eat. Hurry, we don’t have much time,” she chided. It was only a matter of time before the other’s woke up, and Velanna wanted to avoid the tirade of questions, looks, and worst of all, jokes, which would undoubtedly beset them if they were seen sharing a tent.

Sigrun grabbed hold of Velanna's arm and stopped her in her tracks.

"Velanna. _Are you_ trying to court me?"

"Yes. I think so," Velanna answered with a nod of her head.

"You _think_ so?"

"Would you like me to court you?" Velanna asked, arching a brow. 

Sigrun was at a distinct disadvantage at this position, with Velanna standing there in front of her, robe scarcely covering a thing, and hair glistening with water from when she had washed it in the river. She was so lovely, soft, and warm to the touch, fire magic lingering just below the surface, innocent eyes that gleamed like emeralds concealing a dangerous past. Sigrun told herself, when she joined the Legion, that she would never fall in love again, that it was out of the question, unthinkable, but... if she were to fall in love with anyone, she could do worse than fall for a beautiful witch who brought her flowers and cooked her breakfast. Velanna may not have been the best cook in the world, far better at mixing potions and herbs, but her effort was still appreciated.

"Why not?" Sigrun replied, with a shrug of her shoulders. The last girl who stole her heart had got her arrested. What was the worst that could happen? Velanna smiled brightly, for the first time since Sigrun met her, pleased with how easily this had played out. Now, for the first time in years, she was not alone. She was making friends among the Wardens. Sigrun, Nate, and the Commander had all been so kind to her, so welcoming! As long as she avoided Oghren and that healer... it might not be so terrible fighting darkspawn and saving annoying, tiresome humans. She set down their breakfast and began clumsily helping Sigrun put on her armour, piece by piece. 

"How would you like to climb a tree before the others wake up? Maybe I can catch you a star," Sigrun suggested, with a roguish glint in her eye. Velanna's smile widened, and she caught Sigrun in her arms, a leg on either side of her waist, unwilling to let go, and kissed her. For the first time in years she felt truly happy. She wondered how long it would last.


	3. Drinking Games

"Hello, darling," Anders purred as the charming young barmaid set down their drinks. "You look ravishing today!"

She smiled, to be polite, and went back behind the bar to whisper into a fellow barmaid's ear, still holding a tankard of ale in one hand. She was beautiful, and he had often seen her around, but never learned her name. Perhaps that was for the best. No sense getting attached to any one barmaid, now that he was a Warden—tomorrow, they might be called away to Orlais, or they might die, or... anything might happen, now. It was a dangerous calling but not, sadly, as romantic a calling as Anders had first dreamt, when offered recruitment. If he had known everything it entailed—the blood drinking, the darkspawn, the nightmares, the calling, the Deep Roads in general, the high mortality rate, and so on—he might have refused, but at the time he would have taken any deal that meant never being sent back to the Circle. 

"You're in with a shot there," Oghren insisted, teetering on the balance between being jealous and impressed. They were both seated at the same table. They had been playing Wicked Grace up until Oghren got too drunk to tell one card from another, and reluctantly submitted defeat. Anders had won a few coins, and so had Sigrun. Velanna refused to play, thinking gambling 'beneath her,' but listened attentively while Sigrun explained the rules and kept a watchful eye on the proceedings.

Nathanial drank in silence, as was his custom, and kept to his own table. The Commander, exhausted from a long day's work, kept him company for awhile so he did not have to drink alone, but had just gone off to bed, dead on her feet.

Sigrun lightly tugged at Anders arm.

"Next time she comes by ask about her friend. I like her," she confided, putting up her hand as if she were whispering a secret, but making no effort to lower her voice.

"I'll see what I can do, Siggy." He said, patting the dwarf's heavily-armoured shoulder. It hurt, so he made a mental note not to do it again. 

"You're both incorrigible!" Velanna snapped. Anders turned to look her over a second time, through the haze of slight, but soothing, intoxication. Velanna would have been pretty if she ever smiled. If one were judging her purely based on looks... he could see the appeal. What he could not understand was why his fellow Wardens were all tripping over each other's feet to impress her once they actually got to know her. Trying to get on her good side seemed an impossible feat. It would be easier to impress an Archdemon.

Sigrun looked startled for a moment, but any fear quickly dissolved as their eyes met, and she shot Velanna a winning smile. She reached under the table and caught up her hand, laced their fingers together, and Velanna went quiet and her lips moved slightly, the closest she ever came to a smile.

"We're just joking, don't worry!" Sigrun assured her. Anders raised a brow, gave a faint shrug, and turned away. Well maybe it was not impossible to win Velanna's approval—but it was still setting the bar unfeasibly high if you had to die first. 

"I'm not. I haven't had any in weeks! It was never like this in the Circle," Anders complained dramatically, not caring anymore who heard, although not particularly advertising the fact either. He may have been tipsy, but he still had standards. He would not have gone home with just anyone, even if they were a Templar.

"Then why don't you go back?" Nathaniel asked, suddenly irritable.

Anders, writing off Oghren and their game as a lost cause, moved to his feet and gingerly slid to the next table over, where Nate was seated, taking the chair the Warden-Commander had left vacant. He propped himself down across from him, bringing his drink with him.

"Ha-ha-ha. Yes, I know, everything's great here! The rooms are paid for, there's plenty of beer, and no Templars—I can't complain. I just wish you lot weren't so bloody... inhibited." He leaned closer and winked at him. "Especially you."

Nate tensed. His hand was still closed around a mug of ale. 

"What? Why me?"

"You're handsome, strong, tall, dark, bent on revenge... I could do worse." Anders tried not to imagine his rough, calloused hands against his skin, or kissing that misshapen mouth. His eyes fell to his arms, and he had to restrain himself from leaning forward to trail a hand over those well-defined biceps. He knew where this sort of wistful thinking led: nowhere. Howe liked women. Or, he liked one woman, anyway—Velanna. He would have to join the club. Anders had not seen him show the slightest interest in anyone else since he joined the Grey Wardens, but when she was with them his eyes scarcely left her. They were both mages—what did she have that he did not, besides pointy ears, breasts, and no manners? He was steering dangerously close to spending another night brooding alone in the tavern. He would have to watch himself. Was this his fourth drink, or his fifth...?

"You must be desperate," Oghren interrupted, laughing. "He's colder than a dead fish!" Oghren was a terrible wing-man, but a good friend. He meant well. Anders knew he meant well. This time, however, he was not exactly helping.

Under the table, Anders moved his hand forward, lightly resting it on Nate's knee. He said nothing, and did not move away or shake it off. He simply took another swig of ale. Anders' smile widened, pleased with this development. He slid his hand further up his thigh, then edged his foot forward, grazing his boot along Nate's inside leg, starting at the ankle. He parted his mouth, wet his lips, and gave Nate a withering look.

"I don't know about that. I think I could warm him up," Anders insisted.

Nate cleared his throat and suddenly got up, letting Anders' hand slip away.

"I, uh... I have to go," he stammered, before running off. Anders frowned, then shrugged his shoulders. He had tried, anyway. He scanned the room in search of his next conquest. He did not feel like spending the night alone again. In the Circle... it could get lonely, sometimes, especially after spending so much time in solitary, but certain renegade mages aside... you were rarely alone for long. As an apprentice, you shared a room with twenty or more other apprentices. There was never any illusion of privacy. He remembered with Karl, how hard it was to just steal a single moment alone, a single kiss... but you found ways. If an opportunity presented itself to spend a few moments alone with someone reasonably attractive and willing, you took it without hesitating, knowing there might not be another.

Tonight, his search was in vain, and his offers refused. He returned defeated to the Warden's table and played another drinking game with Sigrun, while Oghren sang a rousing rendition of Dwarven songs so terrible the Minstrel left in tears, throwing down their lute. Velanna left early, finding it all very dull. She never took part in their games, and disliked drinking or eating human fare. A hearty dinner was ordered on the Commander's tab, despite the Commander's absence. After everyone had finished eating they headed back to the Keep. Anders planned to have an early night, but the Warden-Commander cornered him in Vigil's Keep the moment she caught sight of him.

"Apologize to Nathanial," she demanded. No 'hello,' no 'nice to see you,' but an order, straight off the bat. What had he done to deserve this?

"What for?" Anders asked groggily, stifling a yawn. It was very late.

"Your teasing upset him. He's brooding alone in the library again." 

Anders gave an exhausted, world weary sigh and rolled his eyes. How did the Warden-Commander know he was upset? Howe was very good at hiding his feelings, if he had any to begin with. It was hard to tell if he was... anything. Anders had seen him smile a few times, but when he smiled it usually just made him look sadder. He had one of those faces. Anders wanted to make him laugh one day just to prove he could. Just to prove it was possible. Only Nate did not seem to care for his jokes. 

"Must I do everything around here?" He exclaimed, before heading off to the library. He purposefully strode across the room to the furthest bookcase, and pulled out the first book he saw with conviction. It was a book on running a farm. After skimming a few pages he put it back, and searched for another. He finally found one on the Tevinter Imperium and took that instead. He adamantly ignored Nathaniel, acting as if he were alone.

Nathaniel was seated on a sofa near the center of the room. Anders sat down on a separate sofa, not far away, and stretched out so his long, languid body covered the length of the sofa, then propped open his book and began reading in earnest. He had said nothing that really merited an apology so would not be the first to speak. If the Commander accosted him again, well... he could say he tried.

He waited in silence for Nate to say something, anything, only ever looking at him from the corner of his eye. He kept waiting. What seemed, to Anders, like hours passed of tense and unrelenting silence. If someone did not say something soon, Anders felt sure he would die. 

"What are you reading?" He finally asked, unable to bear any more of this. He hated silence even more than he hated the Deep Roads. Nathanial looked up at him, his eyes large, perfectly round circles in the dim light of the Keep. Beautiful, deep, slate-blue eyes, set in a hard face, all scars and lined with regret. 

"Military tactics."

"I should have guessed."

"What about you?"

"I'm reading about Tevinter mages."

"I should have guessed," Nate replied, smiling faintly. It had a pleasant affect on the rest of his face, balancing out his features and softening his eyes. For a moment he looked almost human, almost alive.

"This book would have been banned in the Circle! Maker forbid anyone say something nice about mage liberation, it's all demons and darkspawn."

"You're a Warden, now. You signed up for demons and darkspawn."

"I was conscripted! Templars were breathing down my neck! I would have agreed to do anything!"

"Anything?" Howe responded too quickly, raising one brow.

Anders was about to lose his temper, but Howe's tone caught him off guard. It was somehow... playful. He was trying to tell a joke. Anders' regained his composure at once, and gave Howe a wink. This? This he could work with. This was familiar.

"Almost anything, but you should be so lucky!" He smiled, wryly, and shook his head. He wanted to make Howe regret starting this, so he kept the ball rolling. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got a job at the Pearl in Denerim?"

"The Pearl? Is that a pub?" Howe asked, genuinely mystified. Anders broke into laughter.

"By the Maker, you're such an innocent! I feel sorry for flirting with you, now."

"Is that... is that what you were doing?" Nate asked in a small voice.

Anders closed his book and set it aside, after making a mental note of his page, and swung his legs over the side of the sofa so he was seated facing Nathanial. He clasped his hands together.

"What did you think I was doing? Next time, just say 'no thanks,' you will save us both a lot of time." He pushed himself to his feet. Nathanial also rose, unexpectedly.

"I don't want you to stop," he responded, then added, when Anders looked confused: "Unless you want to stop. I was... enjoying it." Nothing he had said or done all night, or since the day they met, gave any indication he 'enjoyed' anything, least of all Anders' company.

"Then why did you run away?" Anders asked, his voice wavering. Nate had caught him off guard. This was... unexpected.

"I enjoyed it more when you kept your hands to yourself."

"Oh. Oh, I see." Anders replied quietly. So he was not _really_ interested, he just liked the attention. He liked being flattered. He did not return Anders feelings, he just appreciated the boost to his ego he felt when someone admitted _they_ were interested. He had met people like that before. All talk, no action, no resolution, no release. "Message received. I'll... keep my hands to myself, here on out! It was just a game, you know. I was just having a laugh." It was not a game to him, but he felt it important to tack on the last sentence, so that he could win this conversation.

"I thought as much. I know you like girls, when you first joined the Wardens it seemed like you had a new one every week..." Nathaniel replied, or started to. Anders was not having that. He would not have Nate try to steal this victory from him. Nate was jilting _him,_ not the other way around. 

"I like men and women. I don't see what that's got to do with it?" Anders asked. He had not exactly gone out of his way to make a secret of this fact. He thought everyone knew.

"Don't you?" Nate replied too quickly, blinking, then lowered his head, looked away, ran a hand nervously through his hair. Anders wondered if he was always this infuriatingly vague.

"You..." Anders began, meekly. "Do you? Like men, I mean. Or women. Could you?" He was stumbling over his own words now, like a fool. He narrowed his eyes, watching Nate closely.

Nate closed his book and put it away, then headed for the door. Anders panicked. He wanted closure, not another sleepless night spent _wondering_ what might happen, _if only..._ he needed to know whether or not he had a chance. If not, he would accept rejection gracefully, and move on. If he did... well, he wanted to know.

"No, wait, you can't just leave like that! You haven't answered my question!"

"Why do you think my father sent me away to the other side of Thedas? How do you think I dishonoured my family name?" Nathaniel responded. Anders froze, gazing across the room at him with wide, owlish eyes. It was only just now beginning to hit home. Nobles... care about these things so much, they obsess over lineages and appearing 'respectable.' A scandal can ruin a family name, forfeit lands. Nobles were expected to enter into political marriages, have plenty of heirs to inherit their land and carry on their name. They were expected to abide by the status quo. For Anders, growing up in the Circle... well, no one thought much of it. You would be in just as much trouble if you were caught in the arms of a woman as you were if it were a man. No decent, self-respecting mage thought less of you if you only enjoyed the company of your own sex, or if you liked people regardless of their sex.

 _"Oh, Nate!"_ Anders murmured sympathetically. He stretched an arm out, bidding him stop, but Nate already had his hand on the door, and promptly left. "Well, you fucked up royally this time, Anders," he told himself, giving a long low whistle in the direction of the closed door. He considered going after him, but decided it would be too much, too soon. He had put down Howe's bad spirits to being too repressed or hung up—over Velanna, perhaps, or some other woman. If he really did like men... if he really did like _him_... well, maybe he still had a chance, but he would have to play his cards right. He had been too forward and scared him away. He would have to exercise more cunning in future. He would have to take his time and win back his trust. But first... he would have to get some sleep. He was already beginning to feel the effects of his drinking the moment he leapt to his feet.


	4. The Good Mage

They did not speak again until they went on patrol together. They were checking the marshes for a reported darkspawn outbreak. It didn't sound particularly romantic or fun, but at least it gave Anders an opportunity to talk with Nate, if only he could get him away from the others.

The time finally came when they reached a fork in the road. Anders suggested they split up into two groups and each take a different direction. Oghren agreed, and ran off with Sigrun down the right path. Anders led Nathanial down the left. To Anders surprise, it was Nathanial who spoke first.

"What was life like at the Circle?"

"Miserable." Anders summoned enough light to illuminate a small area around him, for tracks. He was not going to be caught off guard by darkspawn just because a certain archer had him tongue-tied. He was not an apprentice anymore.

"I know, but... do you ever miss it?"

Anders stopped what he was doing, stood up straight, and turned on his heel to face Nathanial.

"What is this really about?"

Anders had made no secret of his hatred for Templars, the Circle, the First Enchanter, the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility, all of it. He had never once mentioned the Circle in a 'positive light.' He could make a joke about it, like he normally did, or he could figure out why Nathaniel was suddenly so interested in his life.

"Is there _someone_ you miss?" Nate pressed, clearly out of his comfort zone. He was not good at small talk. His rather adolescent attempts at chatting up Velanna were a case in point. Anders wondered how much of his time spent training as a squire in the Free Marches were spent alone, hunting or on patrols. Anders had spent an entire year in solitary. Perhaps there was something they had in common—they were both lonely.

"Someone... from the Circle?" Anders repeated, wanting clarity. Nate had no idea how to ask a simple question. Anders sighed. "Like who, the First Enchanter?" 

"No, I meant... was there someone you left behind, someone you cared about? A friend."

Anders slowly shook his head.

"No. No, there's nothing left for me at the Circle in Lake Calehad. I had a few... acquaintances, but all my real friends are gone. Karl..." His voice caught. "Is gone. Templars sent him to Kirkwall. Because of me. I tried to stop them, but... they wouldn't listen."

"This Karl, was he... special to you?"

"I loved him," Anders answered simply. He did not see the point in playing games.

"You said once mages never fall in love."

He may have, but Anders did not remember saying that to Nate. He must have said it in passing to one of the others, and Nate had overheard him. He would have to be more careful in future. He looked him over thoughtfully. 

"We aren't supposed to fall in love, but... mages are still people! We still have feelings. It happens. The Circle just... discourages it. The Chantry doesn't approve of mage's being happy, or having families, or any of it."

"I'm sorry about your friend."

"Don't be. I'm going to find him, as soon as I'm done here. I'm going to free him. I always swore I would." A silence followed, as they wandered aimlessly through the dark and humid marsh. "While we're on the subject of former loves... have you got any good stories you'd care to share?"

"No. There was only one, a long time ago. Fergus. He's gone now. Thanks, in part, to my father. Sending me away wasn't punishment enough, he had to get rid of the only thing that made being stranded in the Free Marches seem… tolerable. The thought I might one day see him again."

"I'm sorry, Nate. I'm so sorry. If you ever want to talk... I'm not a bad listener, really. Isn't that right, Ser-Pounce-a-Lot?" He cooed into his pack.

"Oh Maker, you brought that sodding cat!" Nate exclaimed, horrified. "What if he gets eaten by darkspawn?"

"He won't be eaten by darkspawn! He's a vicious fighting machine, they wouldn't dare!"

Nathaniel shook his head, trying not to smile. Anders may have been a fool, but he was a charming one.

"Thank you, Anders. For your offer. It's very kind of you."

Anders' smile returned as he slung the pack back over his shoulder. Nathaniel only ever called him by his name when they were alone, but he liked it. In front of everyone else he was just 'Mage.'

"Yeah, well... I like you. You're alright. You’re an awkward wreck and strong enough to kill a man without even trying, but...” he had already run out of compliments. “You're alright,” he repeated with conviction. Ser Pounce-a-lot mewed what may have been agreement, or may have been dissent. In actual fact, it was a warning. Just then a swarm of darkspawn raced out from the trees, surrounding them. Nate was only really confident with his bow, but at such close quarters he had to resort to using his dagger and axe. 

"Get back, Anders! Cover me!" He could not have the crew's only healer dying at the first sign of darkspawn. He would never live that down. Anders obliged him, immediately starting to shoot lightning bolts and stone fists, knocking down a few. Nate set to work on the two closest to him. Just as one darkspawn armed with a battleax raised it aloft over his head, about to careen the bulk of the axe's blade into Nathaniel's chest, Anders appeared beside him and shot a ray of icy frost, encasing the darkspawn in solid ice, freezing him where he stood. Nathaniel thanked the Maker under his breath and shattered both of the darkspawn with his ax, before switching to his bow and picking off a few reinforcements in the distance.

"You know, we make an okay team," Anders observed cheerfully as Nathaniel marched forward, surveying the area for stragglers. None of the corpses were getting back up, so all seemed well. Only... he felt lightheaded.

"I couldn't have done it without you," Nate replied, without looking back. He could have so easily died if Anders hadn't been right there by his side to cast an ice spell. He kept moving forward. A hand reached out and lightly clasped his and he stopped, reeled around. 

Anders had taken his hand. He pointed at his chest. There was an arrow sticking out of it.

"Let me heal you," he insisted softly. A healer's work was never done. He insisted Nathaniel remove his breastplate so he could get to the wound more easily, then gently covered the gash with his hand. It shone a brilliant blue light, and the wound closed beneath his hands, as he mentally stitched together the skin and cleaned the blood. He bit his tongue and moved away to survey his work. Wynne would have been proud.

"There, that's better. How do you feel?"

"I feel... better," Nathaniel replied. The healing magic was warm, and he still felt its affects stealing over his wound and across his body, masking the pain without numbing him completely. It was still a strange sensation. He was still not used to magic of any kind, even the healing variety. His father had not trusted mages in his household or anywhere near his family, not even healers. In the wilds if he was injured, he made do with poultices. Injuries could take weeks, even months, to fully heal. Yet Anders had cured him in an instant, leaving behind only a faint dull ache, which was easy to ignore. He wanted to thank him but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"You're lucky they hit you where they did! If their aim was any better, they might have got you in the heart. Even I can't fix a broken heart," Anders admitted.

Nate smiled weakly. It still took a moment for his strength to come back to him. He gazed up into Anders eyes, and seemed to be seeing him for the first time. He had been wary of Anders since he first joined the Wardens because, he had now to admit, part of him was still afraid of magic. It was hard to unlearn a fear which had been drilled into you since you were a small child. He had been taught that mages were dangerous and not to be trusted, that magic could only be destructive—but Anders had healed him, just now, as he had healed countless others before him. Magic was not just a weapon. Magic could be good. So, it followed... Mages could be good, too. So much he had learned as a boy had been proven wrong, why should it come as such a shock that his father, and his tutors, could have been wrong about this, too? He brought one hand up, caught the back of Anders head, combed through his hair, and dragged him closer, still struggling to find his voice.

"Do you have anything to drink?" He asked, head still reeling. He could no longer tell if it was the arrow or the healing magic which made him reel.

"Water, lyrium potion, stamina draught... what do you need?" Anders asked, checking the belt and pack he carried with him on missions and patrols, always laden with supplies.

"A shot of whisky," Nate answered. It was only wistful thinking which made him ask, but Anders, prepared for everything, came through for him.

"I have that, too." 

He took the flask hitched at the side of his belt and passed it to Nate. Robes were useful for something after all. He had his own personal apothecary hidden in his robes. Nate poured back several drops, then handed it to Anders, and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Anders was still leaning impossibly close to him, checking his pulse. Nate, suddenly full of courage, and the pleasant warmth of the whisky, pushed forward and kissed him. Anders made a muffled sound of surprise as Nate grabbed hold of his neck with one hand and waist with the other, dragging him closer. 

"Remind me to save you more often," Anders responded, a little startled. He had not enjoyed the kiss. It was not the right time or place. But it was still Nathaniel, poor Nathaniel, trying so hard to be human, and not having a clue what to do or say.

"I shouldn't have... I'm sorry... did I hurt you?" Nate asked, clearly concerned. He had kissed Anders too forcefully. He gently reached forward, stroking his hair as if he were made of glass. Anders shook his head, raised a hand, lightly caressed the side of his face, and then kissed him tenderly, the way he needed to be kissed. Then he paused, drew away, waited patiently for Nate to open his eyes.

"How do you feel now?" Anders asked.

"Much better, thanks..." Nate answered with a warm smile. He gently pushed a strand of hair out from Anders' eye. His long blonde hair was falling loose from its clasp. "You're a good healer, Mage."

"Oh, we're back to that? Thanks, sweetheart. You're not so bad yourself."

"Let's go back and find the others, before they start to worry.

"An excellent idea!" Anders answered, remembering where they were and why they had come there. It was not the ideal setting for, say, a romantic picnic—and only a matter of time before another insurgence of darkspawn caught up with them and took revenge on behalf of their fallen comrades.


	5. Secrets

The following morning, at the Keep, Anders expected things would be different. He kept waiting for things to be different. That time never came. Oghren went back to drinking himself sick before breakfast. Sigrun went back to teasing Velanna. Nathaniel went back to flirting with Velanna. He called her a "pretty brush," whatever that meant.

Finally, Anders lost it.

"She doesn't like humans!" He snapped. "Why can't you get that through your thick head?!"

Everyone in the room went silent and stared at Anders, startled. Velanna got flustered, and Sigrun ran to her aid. Nathaniel stood up.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?" He asked, diplomatic as ever. 

"Go ahead!" Anders replied, throwing both hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. Nathaniel resisted the urge to catch them.

"Alone."

"Oh, right. If you've got something to hide, sure." 

Nathaniel walked to the door, and Anders slunk reluctantly after him, into the adjoining corridor. Nathaniel closed the door behind them before taking his arm and leading him aside.

"What was that about?" He asked in a low whisper.

"I think you should leave Velanna alone." _She already had Sigrun. Why should she have Nathaniel, too? It was not fair,_ he insisted to himself, _that all of Vigil Keep should be in love with her._ He may have had a few drinks too, but that only strengthened his resolve.

"Why? We're friends."

"You're friends, are you? Then what does that make us?" Anders asked. He knew he had no right to be jealous, but he was jealous all the same. All they had shared was one kiss, during a difficult moment when emotions were running high. What if it was just adrenaline, or an after effect of his healing magic, or sheer gratitude and nothing more which made Nate kiss him? It might never happen again. It might never go further. _'Just one moment's weakness,'_ Nate might say, years from now, if someone asked. Anders was used to that, used to being sampled and thrown back. It had happened plenty of times before. Why should he expect this time to be any different? 

"Comrades?" Nathaniel suggested, not exactly sure what the word was for fellow Grey Wardens. He had never asked.

"Did our kiss mean nothing to you?" Anders had wanted to say: _do I mean nothing to you?_ But he could not bring himself to go that far, for fear the answer might be _'yes.'_ Anders wanted so badly to believe he could trust Nathaniel. He had to believe Nathaniel would not get bored and simply throw him away, before this went too far and feelings got involved. He was not ready to admit they already had. He still remembered getting trapped in the Deep Roads. He still remembered Nathaniel holding him in his strong arms, whispering in his ear that he was safe, and it would all be over soon.

"I thought that was what this was about. Please, lower your voice before someone hears..." Nathaniel insisted gently, edging closer. He wanted to calm him down, wanted to reassure him that he had no reason to lose his temper or worry, but did not know what to say or do. He thought it would be easier if they could go somewhere private. It made him nervous, talking out in the open like this; they were liable to attract an audience.

"Oh, is that it? You're ashamed of me!"

"I'm not ashamed of you! I'm ashamed of myself."

"For fancying me. What's the difference?" This had happened to Anders before, in the Circle. Everyone thought he was easy; they took advantage of him. Then they got upset when he developed feelings because that 'was not part of the arrangement.'

"I was grateful. I got carried away. I forgot myself," Nathaniel insisted. He would have said anything in that moment if it meant keeping Anders in his life, as insufferable as he could be sometimes.

He had never been any good at talking. Too much time spent on his own, living in his own head, had made him taciturn. He never had anyone growing up he could talk to, or confide in, besides his sister. He had several acquaintances, but no one he could trust. The closest thing he had ever found to real friends, he found when he joined the Wardens—but he could hardly go to the Commander or Oghren about this, they _knew_ Anders. They would think he was a fool to fall for someone like him. Everyone knew Anders, or thought they did; but none of them really saw him. They only saw the bad jokes, the leering grin, the shining eyes, and the hapless, carefree demeanor. They did not see how gentle, kind, and downright selfless Anders could be towards a small defenseless animal or an injured patient when he thought no one was looking. They did not see how he braved the Deep Roads, even though they scared him to death, because the Commander said she needed his help. Nathaniel had comforted him the first time they went into the Deep Roads passage below the Keep, when an unexpected rockslide meant they thought, for forty-six dreadful minutes, they might be trapped for good, until Oghren found them. Nathaniel had held Anders and talked him down when he had a panic attack, all the while vowing to keep him safe. It was only later that evening, when they were back in the safety of Vigil's Keep, and Anders was back to his normal smiling, cheerful self, that the reality hit home _why_ Anders was so afraid of being trapped in small dark places—his year in solitude. 

Nathaniel may not have always understood Anders, but he knew he had a good heart. When Nathaniel first joined the Wardens, when everyone was telling the Commander she was wrong to trust him, Anders had been the first to speak up in his defense. He had been his first real friend, taking him under his wing and dragging him, usually against his will, into the rest of the Wardens' good graces. At the time, he had resented him for it. In retrospect, he was grateful Anders gave him the push he needed to accept his new calling and begin to feel as if he truly belonged there. If it were not for Anders, he might never have come to see the Grey Wardens as the second chance he needed to prove himself and redeem his family name. He may have rolled his eyes at his terrible jokes, and let his endless tirade of compliments and propositions slide like water off a duck's back, but it was not because he was not interested; if anything, it was because he was too interested. Anders flirted with everyone, but it was just a game to him. He had numerous conquests who he treated politely enough, but as far as Nathaniel knew, they were all women, and he never slept with the same woman twice. When he flirted with men it was usually a joke, like when he flirted with their happily married Commander, but even if he was interested... Nathaniel had no interest in becoming just another conquest. He had always been attracted to Anders, but more importantly, he _cared_ about him. Anders may have driven him mad sometimes... he may have been annoying and crude with no sense of timing or propriety... but he still cared about him. He was the closest friend he had and he could not imagine life without him. If anything had made him hold his tongue or stop his hand in the past when Anders made advances—it was his fear that doing so might drive him away. He wanted this, wanted him, more than he had ever wanted anyone. He wanted him so much it scared him. He knew how dangerous it was to need people; they can so easily be lost.

"If you don't want me, keep your hands to yourself!" Anders snapped.

"Anders... I do want you."

"And Velanna."

"No... no one else. Only you," Nathaniel said, taking a few steps closer and lightly touching the side of his face before lifting his chin. Anders' eyes dilated when they met Nathaniel's. "I was always taught to be afraid of apostates. I was always taught to be afraid of myself. But you're still all I think about—and for once in my life, I'm not afraid." He leaned forward. Their lips met.

Anders had felt so alone since Karl was sent away, but he had never seriously considered the idea that someone else might try to fill the void he left in Anders' heart. No one could ever replace Karl, but just the idea someone actually wanted him was comforting. It had been so long since Anders felt wanted and appreciated. He could always use sex as a mediator; a way to get to know people or a way to get things from people—a roof over his head, a meal, protection, friendship—but there were never any feelings involved. With Nate... it might be different. He hoped it would be different. Anders shivered when he kissed him. His knees went weak. He felt like an apprentice again.

As Nate pulled away, Anders gently ran his fingers through his long dark hair, tethering him there; keeping him close. Nate pulled free Anders' clasp and let his honey-coloured hair fall loose over his shoulders.

"Are they all like you in the Anderfels?" He asked fondly.

"What, magic?" Anders replied, laughing nervously as he threaded his arms around Nate's neck.

"No... fair and strong... with eyes like amber."

"Just me, honey. I'm one of a kind." Anders set to work kissing his neck, and slowly worked his way down. Nate lifted his jaw and smiled, before folding him in his arms.

"I've never met an apostate before," he confessed. It seemed as good a time as any.

"I'm your first?" Anders hummed, pulling away for a moment, trying to decide what part of the rogue to kiss or caress next. "I'll consider it an honour. Wait until you see what I can do with a little electricity." He lifted Nate's arms up over his head and drew over them his tunic, then kissed his mouth again. Nate pulled him closer, basking in the warmth which seemed to radiate from him. His hands strayed to the laces of his trousers.

"Get a room!" Someone snapped gruffly. It suddenly dawned on Nate that they were still in the middle of a corridor—a quiet corridor, yes, but a public one all the same. Someone they knew could very easily have walked in on them. 

Anders did not seem to notice—or if he did, mind—the interruption. He kissed Nate again, with his eyes closed, and a hand on either side of Nate's face.

"Anders, no!" Came Nate's muffled reply as he wrest himself free from Anders' hold. "Let's go somewhere more private."

"Oh, so now you're shy!" Anders teased. "I was beginning to think you were an old hand at seducing passing mages in lonely corridors."

"You're the first mage I ever met," Nate reiterated. He tried to push Anders off his lap gently, but he took some forcing. He had already had a few pints, and booze made him even more clingy than usual.

"I bet that’s what you tell all the mages!" Anders drawled. It did not dawn on him, until much later, when he had time to sober up, that perhaps Nate's discomfort around him was not because of him, per se, but because of what he _represented_ —a dangerous runaway apostate, who can summon electricity or a rush of flames from his fingertips at the drop of a hat. Anders had learned he had magic young, and spent most of his life surrounded by other mages. He had forgotten how frightening mages appear to those who have never encountered them, save in stories, where they're all abominations and maleficarum.

"Please! Move," Nathaniel snapped, more curtly, when he saw the drunken old noble was still standing there, smirking at them, a bottle in hand, clearly expecting a show. Anders' smile faded. He slid out from Nate's arms and stood up, extending a hand to help Nate—who was still sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall—to his feet. Nate took his hand, but the minute he was upright Anders gave a blasé shrug, turned on his heel, and started walking away.

"Where are you going?!" Nathaniel called after him.

"Get us some drinks!" He slurred, thrusting one arm up in the air in a rallying gesture.

Nathaniel ran a few paces to catch up with the lanky blonde and reached out to clasp his arm at the wrist. The lightest pressure brought Anders to an abrupt halt. He swiveled around to face him.

"I think you've had enough," Nate said gently but firmly.

"But you haven't! I know what you nobles are like. You can't kiss me when you're sober."

"Is that what you think? I only kissed you because I was drunk?" Nate asked, voice tinged with concern. He had barely touched a drop that day.

"You conveniently forgot all about me once you sobered up."

"I didn't... forget you, I was just afraid. I am afraid of you—and for you. It's a hard life."

"Because of what... people will think? What they'll say? It's worth it, Nathaniel—if you love someone, it's worth it. None of that matters."

He had not meant to use the word 'love,' but got carried away. He was speaking theoretically. Anyway, they were just friends who fancied each other, no one had said anything about love. Who could love someone like him? His thoughts invariably circled back to Karl, but Karl was gone, he had a new life now, and had probably moved on, forgetting all about the luckless little runaway who still pined for him. What would he say if he could see him now, a big important Grey Warden, saving Thedas from annihilation one darkspawn at a time? ...Or would he think Anders was a fool to get free of one cage and immediately rush into another, to sign away his life and future to an impossible cause? But he was always championing impossible causes, even when he was only an apprentice, and Karl, always so cynical himself, used to admire his idealism. Now, Nathanial... he had been conscripted to get out of prison. How did he feel about that? How did he feel about anything? He never talked about his feelings. Anders, who never stopped talking, had presumed at first that it was because he did not have any, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Now he was beginning to realise just how wrong he was about Nathaniel, he wondered how far it went.

"You're probably right," Nathaniel admitted. "I suppose it doesn't matter anymore what my family would think. Our name has already been dishonoured, my future inheritance thrown away, my life and freedom forfeited. Now that I belong to the Grey Wardens... I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. What have I got to lose?" 

Anders frowned, trying to process this through his slight haze. All he could see was that Nate was sad and he wanted to make him less sad. He tried distracting him from his sadness, he tried taking his mind off of it the only way he knew how, but apparently he was 'too drunk.' Apparently Nate cared more than he let on. Perhaps he would try talking instead. Nate seemed to be in a talkative mood for once.

"Was it really so bad?" He asked.

"What?"

"Your family."

"I loved my family! I loved my sister, my brother, and our aunts and uncles... but my father was a difficult man. He demanded respect and obedience from everyone, and from his children... he demanded perfection. We were never allowed to step out of line. He was a hard man to please, and would beat us if we misbehaved, but... I truly believe it was because he wanted us to grow up well and become natural leaders like him."

"He beat you?" Anders echoed, shocked. He thought his own father was cruel for the names he called him when he discovered his only son was a mage, for tearing him from his mother and sending him away—but he never beat him. Maybe a slap or shove now and then, when he stepped out of line, but never a beating. He received that from the Templars, yes, but... it does not carry the same weight when a stranger beats you as it does when it is someone you trust. Clearly part of Nathaniel still wanted to believe that, despite everything he now knew about his criminal exploits, his father had been a good man once. As a boy he must have wanted so badly to make him proud. He was starting to see why Nathaniel was so sentimental about the rubbish they picked up around the Keep, or during their travels, which had once belonged to his family. Broken fragments of the past he was trying to hold onto, and rebuild—only better. He wanted to fix the relics of a past he could not change.

"I deserved it. I was always misbehaving. Stealing, and playing pranks, and... little things, nothing serious, just to vex my siblings or annoy their guests. The worst thing he ever did was send me away."

 _What about the nobles he tortured? What about the people he had assassinated for the crime of standing in his way? What about the time he tried to kill their Commander, the Hero of Ferelden?_ Anders held his tongue. Nathaniel knew all about that, he had heard the stories. He did not need to be reminded of them. 

"I'm sorry," he said, simply. He could not think what else to say. He took a few steps closer, extended his hand, waited for Nathaniel to take it, and wove their fingers together. "He shouldn't have sent you away. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know how lucky he was to have you for a son."

"I know you're just saying that to be nice, but... thanks."

"See? Talking isn't so hard! Now if we're done talking..." Anders drew closer, placed one hand on his stomach and, edging Nate's chin up with his nose, tilted his head and kissed his neck, like a lion going in for the kill.

"Sober up and then we can talk," Nathaniel said, firmly grabbing hold of his shoulders and pushing him away as if he were as light as a leaf. Anders gave a wistful, defeated sigh, but acquiesced to his terms. He was not sober enough to argue. "I'll be waiting in my room."

"I think I liked you better when you couldn't string three words together," Anders replied as Nate, whose room was close at hand, slipped out of his reach and disappeared. Anders shook his head, still smiling faintly, and stumbled back to the dining quarters, hoping some food might slow the effects of the Antivan brandy the Warden-Commander brought home, another gift from that Crow of hers. Anders had yet to meet him, but he heard plenty of stories from Oghren. He sounded like a character from one of those cheap Orlesian adventure novels he used to like so much. Oh, he still liked them, but now he only read them in secret. As he walked down the hall he suddenly heard a 'mrrow!' at his feet and looked down to see a blur of orange stripes with two large golden eyes staring up at him.

"There you are!" He exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face. He leant down to pick Ser Pounce-a-lot up. The cat initially put up a fight, hating to be held, but soon calmed down when he saw where they were going—through the servants entrance to the kitchen, where he knew some delicious mackerel was hidden that would be just the thing to cure Ser Pounce-a-lot's insatiable appetite. He set him down on the cold stone floor and offered the fish in a small dish, and Ser Pounce a lot ate it up, purring contentedly. Anders searched the kitchen for any more appealing scraps to satisfy his own voracious appetite, then sat down on the floor across from Ser Pounce-a-lot, and they ate together, evading the scrutinizing eye of the head chef, who had already, from the looks of it, finished cleaning dishes with the serving staff and gone to bed.

"Just us two, now," Anders said, studying the cat. He reminded him of Mister Wiggums, who had also been an orange tabby. They were his favourite. The others liked to mock him for his attachment to cats, or for talking to them as if they were people, but he knew they listened and, in their own way, they understood. Cats were much more intelligent than people gave them credit for. Mister Wiggums had been there for him when he needed him most. After spending an entire year in solitary confinement, having anyone to talk to besides your own shadow is an improvement.

"What do you think of this mess we got ourselves in to?" He asked, gently stroking Ser Pounce-a-lot. He protested, because he was busy eating, so Anders took his hand away. 

"Grey Wardens for life. I thought it would be better here; I thought they were rescuing me; but the more I think about it, the more I wonder... if I haven't rushed out of the oven and into the frying pan. What do you think, Ser Pounce-a-lot? Should I turn it all in, all this saving the world nonsense?"

Ser Pounce-a-lot finished his dinner and mewed plaintively.

" _You_ would say that," Anders replied, scratching him under his chin. He purred some more, then curled up into a perfect circle, pinning Anders' robes to the floor in the process. "Don't get too comfortable. If I wait too long, Nate's going to fall asleep. Can’t have that, can we?" He paused, gazed up at the ceiling, deep in thought. The trials and tribulations of his love life were lost on Ser Pounce-a-lot, whose dreams began and ended with fish.

Nate was an entirely unexpected problem. He had gone into this arrangement hoping for nothing more than a pleasant diversion, but... it was becoming increasingly clear to Anders that Nate needed more than that. What could Anders really give him? What could he promise? The Wardens had, at most, thirty years; but the way things were going, they would be lucky to last another week. What if a time came when he was forced to choose between, say, saving Nate and saving hundreds of strangers? He may have been a healer, but he was not cut out for playing a hero. He would always selfishly put his own survival, and the survival of those dear to him, first. Their happiness... but what was he on about, now? He barely knew Nate. So they had worked together for a few months, travelled together, traded a few stories about their tragic past... what did it all amount to? Why should he care so much? Was it really Nate he wanted, or just someone to replace the love he had lost and curb his loneliness? Did it matter? Tomorrow, or the next day, or a few years from now... he would find a way to make it right. He would find a way to make everything right.


	6. Revelations

"So why are you so nice to Velanna?" Anders asked the following morning at breakfast, when they were left alone for a few moments.

"I need an excuse to be nice to her?" Nathanial asked, a little startled by his question. 

They had spent the night together, but as soon as Anders awoke, and he had wished Nate good morning, he had run off to his own chambers. They had agreed to, for the time being, keep their relationship a secret from the others, at least for now. They were only testing the waters, deciding how they felt and whether or not this was something serious that might last. Since coming down for breakfast, Anders had been as silent as the grave, only speaking when directly spoken to, and only replying in words of one or two syllables. Nothing could be more suspiciously out of character for him. Nate was surprised he saw fit to break the silence with this. He looked, briefly, at the door, checking it was closed and they were alone.

"She's a confused and frightened young woman who has lost her sister and entire clan to darkspawn, and is under a lot of stress, living in a strange place full of strange people, whose customs are alien to her. I thought... she needed a friend," he explained plainly.

"So all that... all that 'pretty brush' stuff was just you trying to let her know she's one of the gang, now?" Anders asked, still not entirely convinced.

"Yes!"

"Nate, she's a murderer!"

"We've all killed people."

"I haven't! I've only killed darkspawn. And you... were a soldier, sort of. That's different. She lured hundreds of men into a trap and then slaughtered them with evil trees! It's not remotely the same thing!"

"Sigrun seems to have forgiven her."

"Sigrun's in love with her," Anders posited. Nathaniel raised a brow, then looked away, and was silent for a few minutes, deep in thought. If Sigrun was in love with anyone, he had not noticed. As a rule, he liked to keep himself to himself, and as such, had a healthy respect for the privacy of others, never paying much mind to gossip unless it directly concerned him. Nathanial thought up a cogent reply, and Anders waited patiently while he did. Anders was, slowly, getting used to the way Nate operated. While Anders was all talk, Nate stumbled over his words. He was quiet and introspective. He never spoke without thinking, without weighing each word. 

"She didn't know any better, did she? She thought those men had killed her sister. Who knows, in her position, I might have done the same thing."

"Summon evil killer trees?!" Anders retorted, with a bemused but skeptical grin. He tried to imagine Nate in her place, wielding dangerous forest magic. He tried to imagine him as a mage seeking revenge. He got about as far as imaging Nate in a dress before the serious nature of this conversation, and Nate's own sensitivity, dawned on him and he bit his tongue.

"I love my sister! I would do anything to protect her, and if someone hurt her... I would want revenge."

"Like you wanted revenge on your father's murderer?" Anders asked in a low, even voice, mulling over his words.

"Exactly!"

"Until you learned all the facts, and realised... they were right, and your father was a lying, no-good traitor. No, I'm beginning to see it now." 

"Can we not talk about my father?"

"Sore spot. Right. Forget I mentioned it."

Anders reached out his hand and covered Nate's, hoping to reassure him with the simple gesture in a way he knew words could not. Anders had always needed words, needed confirmation, to believe someone cared. Gestures seemed... empty to him, without words, without clarity. He was beginning to understand that Nate was... quite the reverse. He did not put trust in words because he had too often been lied to by people close to him. He only believed in gestures, and he needed someone to reach out and take his hand just as badly as Anders needed someone, anyone, to say they loved, respected, and needed him, and truly mean it.

There was some noise as people approached. Anders moved his hand away and slunk, still seated next to Nate, away from him onto his elbow, face in his hand. He looked as if he were nursing a headache. Oghren was the first of the party to walk in, quickly followed by the rest of the Warden's merry band.

"There you are! Miss out on your beauty sleep, Sparkles?" Oghren cooed at Anders, who leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Ser Pounce-a-Lot woke me up and I couldn't get back to sleep," he complained with a heavy sigh. Nate sipped at his drink and kept his eyes turned away, not wanting to corroborate his lie, and not wanting to devise his own. 

"What about you?" Sigrun asked, looking Nate in the eye.

"Overslept," he answered simply. That seemed to satisfy her. She shook her head and gave a disappointed 'tsk!'

"Better watch yourself! We nearly went on patrol deprived the benefit of your beautiful face," Sigrun said, flattering him with a smile. She turned to Velanna and reached out her hand. Velanna awkwardly took it.

"Guess it's just you and me against the world, darling," She exclaimed, dramatically. Velanna rolled her eyes and Sigrun raced out the door, dragging her along.

"What's gotten in to them?" Anders asked, opening one eye to see they had vanished.

"Why is it every time I think I've found a good woman, she runs off with some sweet-talking poetess?" Oghren pined despondently for a solid forty seconds, before forgetting his broken heart and crushed dreams. Which of the two he had miscast as a 'sweet talking poetess' was beyond Anders, but his money was on Velanna. He had seen her writing in a book once, and as Oghren had never, personally, looked into a book before, it seemed safe to presume he counted all forms of writing as more or less the same.

"Oghren. You're married. Don't you have a kid on the way?" He nearly said a 'pebble.' He took particular relish in that trick he and Oghren had played on Velanna, convincing her for a whole hour (before Sigrun set her straight and clipped Oghren around the ears) that dwarves started out life as pebbles.

"What can I say? I'm a gift that keeps giving. Everyone wants a piece of Oghren. Don't think I haven't caught you looking, too, when you think I can't see!" Oghren said, giving Anders a sly smile -- or what was probably a sly smile, it was hard to tell with his mouth covered up by such a thick forest of ginger hair. It turned Anders' stomach.

"Oh Maker no, make him stop!" Anders replied, irritably, burying his face in his hands. The very thought was almost as repulsive as Oghren's breath.

"I know I'm irresistible, but you'll have to control yourself around me, Sparkles! I'm strictly a ladies man," Oghren continued, undeterred.  
Nate smiled and shot Anders a sidelong look. Anders lifted his head from his hands and snarled at him. 

"Could you please not? This is mortifying!"

"Not what?"

"Look at me!"

"So now I'm not allowed to look at you? What if I can't help myself?" Nate asked. Then he leaned in closer and murmurred in a low, seductive voice: "We had better warn the Templars—I believe you've cast a spell on me." Nate gave him a wink and Anders opened his mouth, then closed it again, then opened it, looking like a fish. It was such a terrible chat-up line and unworthy of him, but Nate had never flirted with Anders in public before. He did not know how to react. He decided the safest response was to appear indignant.

"If you all don't stop mocking me this instant, I'm going straight to the Commander!" He snapped, jumping to his feet.

"And tell her what? You don't like being given a taste of your own medicine?"

Anders huffed, but quickly settled down. That was fair. He slumped back into his chair with a shrug, and Nate's smile widened. He was actually smiling now! Anders heart leapt, but he tried to appear unmoved and uninterested, sipping casually at his drink. Turns out, he had no need to search for the Commander—she walked in a few minutes later and breezily told them they were headed back to Adamantine as soon as Sigrun and Velanna were back from their patrol. On their way there, they would stop at some noble's rural estate and see it was foritifed against darkspawn and bandits. When they arrived they found it was, tragically, not fortified at all. The walls surrounding the estate—if you could even call them walls—had been trampled through and torn down, and everything was torn or in tatters. Nate strode confidently ahead of the others, surveying the area.

"No sign of bandits, but... I get a feeling we are not alone."

Anders, knowing he fell short when it came to hand-to-hand combat, stuck resolutely in Sigrun and Nathaniel's shadow, following a few steps behind them. He did venture off, however, a few steps to survey a little house. The door had been torn off its hinges and thrown forcefully to the ground. He examined it, and caught light of a heap in the corner. Sticking out of the heap was an arm. He edged closer to find it, thankfully, still attached to a body.

"Hello? Are you okay?" He asked, crouching down to gently touch their shoulder. When they did not move, or open their eyes, he turned them over slightly, hoping to take their pulse. Then he noticed half their face was missing, jumped back, and scrambled to his feet, running into Nate.

"What's wrong?"

"Those darkspawn... are monsters!" He murmurred, stricken with horror.

"You're only just beginning to realise that?" The Commander asked, one brow raised. She was not laughing at him, though, and instead gave him a sympathetic look. She lightly patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry. I reacted the same way when I first passed through Lothering after..." a long pause followed, then she swallowed hard and shook her head. "But it's not worth dwelling on. All we can do is our best to ensure no more innocents get hurt."

"Help! Help me!" Someone cried, as if on cue. A young figure rushed towards them, out of the brush where they had been hiding. The figure, a young child, raced straight for the commander.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Monsters everywhere! Big ones, the size of houses!"

"Oh? Where?"

It was still silent, too silent. They heard a twig break. Nathaniel swung around, the first to react, his bow poised as a darkspawn stepped out from behind the tumbledown house and into view. It was tall and slender. Nate shot him down with an arrow through the place where in people live a heart. It only slowed the creature down. He fired two more in quick succession, and the lights went out in its eyes and it crashed to the ground. Several more, hearing the commotion -- the child's screams, perhaps, summoning them, flooded out from the surrounded woods and rushed toward them, en mass.

"Scatter!" Nathanial cried, seeing they were outnumbered. It was not his place to give orders but this time the others, thankfully, listened. If they had stayed put they would have quickly been surrounded and overwhelmed. The commander took the young boy in hand and led him away, into the farm house, then slammed shut the windows and barricaded the door. She drew her sword, ready to slice at anything that broke through them. Oghren, the courageous fool, simply charged into them. Velanna caused an earthquake, and enchanted some vines to ensnare their feet and hold them fast, then sent flames in their direction. Anders... panicked, and stayed close to Sigrun, who had two swords out and was wearing the most armour. He trusted her approach to fighting over Oghren's. She took out a smoke bomb and threw it into the crowd, which quickly dispersed. When Anders turned around to look behind him, he saw Nathaniel had vanished. Sigrun grabbed him by the arm and yanked him away. They ducked behind a tree and what was once a stone wall.

"Careful, Healer. We need you," she reminded him. "I'll take care of these guys, but you'll need to back me up if things get rough—just keep your distance. Oh, and take this," she said, pulling a small hunting knife out from her belt and offering it to him. 

He took it, mumbled: "Thanks," and gazed at it in startled wonder, as if he had never seen a knife before. "What do I do with it?"

"You... stab the baddies?" She supplied, smiling nervously and immediately regretting her decision to arm him. 

"What if one of them... bites me?"

"You've already drunk tainted blood, you won't catch the Blight," she reminded him.

"I might still die."

"Aye. Well from one dead Warden to another, it's been nice knowing you." She offered a gloved hand. He shook it. Then she got to her feet and covertly rushed out from behind the trees, sneaking up on one of the stragglers and stabbing him through the back, so her blade ran clear through his ribcage and out the other side. It gave a shrill scream then, bleeding, fell to the ground face first. She put her boot against its back and pulled out the sword with a little difficult. Once it was comfortably balanced in her left hand, she took the second from its sheath in her right, and made short work of his friends. By the time Anders emerged from hiding behind his tree she was standing in the middle of six or seven darkspawn corpses, both swords ready and poised.

"You really are a force of nature, you know that?" He observed, genuinely impressed. More followed. He shot a bolt of lightning at the first, and froze the second. Sigrun sliced his head clean off, and Anders grimaced, backing away. He made a mental note to give Sigrun plenty of space to 'work' on the battlefield. He really did not want to get between her and an enemy. He stumbled a few paces behind her and tried to catch his breath. He cast walking bomb, which always worked a treat, but now he was running out of mana. A darkspawn who had separated from the rest of his pack slunk out from the shadows and Anders' eyes widened. He took a few steps back and reached for a spell, but lacked the energy to bring it to life. 

"Sigrun!" He wailed, but Sigrun was busy fighting three darkspawn at once. He suddenly remembered the knife she had given him. He reached for it and brought it out, but was unsure what to do. Stab him? Cut his throat? Throw it in his general direction, hope for the best, and run? It was quickly approaching and making a hissing noise. It opened its wide, gaping mouth full of sharp and pointed teeth. As he tried to stab it, the darkspawn easily knocked the knife out of his hands. Then an arrow hurtled through the air just over his shoulder and pierced its throat. It stumbled backwards a few steps, coughing up blood, before collapsing. Anders spun around to see Sigrun still hard at work. Then he looked up. Nathaniel had clambered onto the rooftop of that shabby little farmhouse, and none of the darkspawn had figured out how to follow him. Anders, seeing his pack on the ground, scrambled towards it in search of a lyrium potion, drank it whole, and then rushed to Sigrun's side, rejoining the fray. Once they had finished with the darkspawn on the ground, surrounding the house, Nathaniel climbed down from his rooftop and joined them.

"Now we're even," he declared. "You saved my life, and I saved yours."

Sigrun took out a battered old cloth and wiped some of the blood off her blades so they would not rust, but did not think to wipe the blood off her face or hands.

"When did you save his life?" She asked, trying to make idle conversation.

"The other day when we were patrolling. Some darkspawn snuck up on us, and I healed him—because I'm a healer. It's what I do."

"You did not look like a healer out there today. You killed... how many darkspawn?"

"I lost count. Why?"

"Did the Circle teach you to fight like that?" Nate asked.

"The Circle would never condone using magic as a weapon. They teach us to control our magic. What you do with it once you've passed your Harrowing... well, that's between you and the Templars."

"I'm glad you learned, anyway. I was worried for a moment there. I thought I'd lost you." Nate said, smiling softly, even... tenderly. 

Anders straightened up, suddenly finding the composure he had thought lost forever, and met Nate's eyes. It was a strange omission, and seemed a strange time to make it. They had fought together before. What made this time any different?

Sigrun cleared her throat and walked away, sensing they wanted a moment alone. Anders was not letting her out of his sight. He was not ready to have the "what we're doing is dangerous and one of us may die" talk.

"Where are you going?" He snapped, easily catching up with Sigrun and her short legs. He was tall even for a human, and towered over must of his companions.

"To look for the others. I thought..."

"Yes?"

"Anders... he's been through a lot, but so have you. Be careful."

"Careful? I fight darkspawn for a living! If you can call this a living."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. You think I'd hurt him? Be a bad influence? Teach him blood magic? What?" Anders had heard it all before. 

"I think he might hurt you."

"I don't bruise easily."

"You see… all this? The jokes, the sarcasm… I know what you're doing, putting on a brave face, pretending not to need people, pretending to be happy. I know what it is, and I know what's beneath it. No, that's not entirely true... I don't know, but I can guess." 

"I... Sigrun," Anders began, wanting to argue with her, wanting to disagree. She cut him short.

"I know you have a good heart. I don't want to see you get it broken again."

He gave her a quizzical, sidelong look. He had never told her about Karl, he had never even talked to her about Nathaniel before today, and wondered where she got off saying 'again,' before admitting he may have drunkenly confided in her, then forgotten all about it the following morning. While he thought she was wrong to doubt Nathaniel's motives, he still appreciated that it was concern for his welfare which made her speak up. She was a good friend. He did not have very many of those left, so would gratefully accept her advice, even if he had no intention of following it.

"Are you finished?"

"Yes. Let’s go find the others and tell them it’s over." 

Anders silently nodded assent, and they went to the farmhouse, knocked on the door, told the Commander everything was safe now. Then they looked for Oghren and Velanna. They were at the edge of the woods, fighting... an ogre. Of course. The others rushed forward, all but Nathaniel, who was tasked with defending their young civilian charge.  
Anders and Velanna joined forces for the first time to distract the Ogre while Sigrun, Oghren, and the Commander, swords and axes at the ready, worked to knock it off its feet and slow it down. Just as it was leaping to attack them en mass, Anders paralyzed him, then with a hand outstretched, drained the energy from him, and felt it rush into his veins, mingling with his blood. Sigrun gave a loud cheer as the ogre fell down dead, and danced on his corpse. Oghren joined her, clapping, and even offered to buy Anders a drink. Velanna smiled at him for a split second, and said: "Well done," before turning to leave. He took that as a warning.

Then he looked back to Nathaniel, who was holding the boy by the hand, and looking at Anders with terror in his eyes. Anders' smile disappeared. Sigrun, Oghren, Velanna, and the Commander led him away, and Nathaniel and his charge followed a few paces behind, but Anders could not get the picture of Nathaniel's face out of his head for the rest of the day. After they had collected their things, and treated their wounds, they continued their journey to Adamantine, taking up rooms in the local tavern, where they celebrated Anders miraculous defeat of the ogre. All but Nathaniel. 

***

Anders waited until it had quieted down, and most of their party had retired to bed, before walking over to Nathaniel and sitting down across from him. He took a swig of ale from Nathaniel's own cup, and reminded how terrible the ale was there by one taste, quickly set it back down in front of Nate. He had managed to remain sober this time, on purpose, though pretended to match the others drink for drink. They were too far gone to notice. The ale there may have been terrible, but if you wanted to be blind drunk, it did the job. Tonight he wanted to keep a clear head.

"Why the long face?"

"What did you do back there?"

"You'll have to be more specific. I've done a lot of things today."

"When you killed that ogre you... worked some kind of witchcraft. You drank his blood."

"I may be a lot of things, Nate, but I'm no vampire."

"Fine, you didn't drink it... but I saw blood leave his body."

"It's an entropy spell."

"Entropy?"

 _'That's a noble education for you,'_ he thought to himself. For once he had the good sense to keep his snide comments to himself.

"When you die or get sick... it's what happens to your body. I don't like using entropy spells, but sometimes they're necessary."

"It looked like blood magic to me."

"Is that what this is about? You think I used blood magic?"

It was not the first time someone accused him of practicing blood magic, but the accusation hurt coming from Nate. Blood magic was serious. You had to look a demon in the eye and accept its offer before you could use it. No one 'dabbled' in blood magic; either you signed your life away to a demon, or you refused. Anders may not have been an exemplar member of society, but he would never consort with demons.

"You _are_ an apostate! You even seem proud of the fact, running around in broad daylight with your Tevinter robes and your staff and... what is that on the end, a halla skull?"

"I'm not ashamed of being a mage. Now that I'm a Grey Warden, I don't see any reason to hide the fact."

"Life could be so much easier for you if you did."

Anders felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The walls were closing in.

"Is this really it? Are you really going to break up with me because I'm a mage? I can think of a million better reasons why you should leave me, if you're having trouble coming up with any!"

Nate gave him a long look, frowning. 

"Are we even together?" He asked. 

A few stolen kisses and one night together was hardly the basis of serious committed relationship, but... it had seemed like it might be the start of _something._ He liked Nathaniel. It came as a shock to him, at first, when it stopped being a joke and emotions got involved, but he genuinely enjoyed his company. He even enjoy his silence, as much as it infuriated him when he wanted to talk and could not get a word out of the recalcitrant rogue. He did not want whatever they had to end before it even began. 

"I don't know! All I know is… we can't be together if you need me to pretend to be something I’m not.” As much as he hated the way mages were treated, he would not give up his magic for all the gold in Thedas, and he adamantly refused to be ashamed of it, or hide the fact he was a mage, for anyone. 

"I never said...!" Nathaniel stopped mid-sentence, mid-thought, took a deep breath, tried to compose himself. "I don't mind that you're a mage. I did at first, I was afraid at first... and maybe I'm still afraid. Then you kissed me and I... forgot to be afraid. Now that I'm waking up, I'm starting to realize what it means, what being with you means. Anders... I can't lose you to Templars. I can't lose you to Templars, or the Circle, or ogres, or archdemons, or the Fade, or..." his voice caught in his throat. He sounded on the verge of tears. Anders had thought him incapable of tears. He leaned closer, reached out, and took up his hand.

"You aren't going to lose me, okay?"

"You can't say that. You don't know," Nate replied in a small voice.

"Neither do you. No one can predict the future. That doesn't mean we can't, or shouldn't, enjoy the time we have together."

Velanna walked up to their table, pleased to have finally found them, opened her mouth to speak, then noticing their joined hands, promptly closed it.

"Oh," she said.

"What do you want, Velanna?" Anders asked, a little irritably. He did not welcome the interruption. It was not easy getting Nate to open up.

"Commander sent me to find you, said... we were trying to decide on rooms. Since Anders is the hero of the day, he gets first pick."

"I don't care, I can sleep anywhere,” he said brusquely, wanting to get rid of her. 

"You're the tallest, so it makes sense you take the biggest bed. Sigrun is the smallest, so she... hm." She gazed long and hard at the table, apparently deep in thought.

"What?"

"Pardon me, humans. I know I'm not familiar with your customs, but... in my clan, when two people love each other very much..."

"I've had the talk, Velanna," Anders insisted.

"They hold hands."

It was his turn to go: "oh."

"And share quarters."

"Yes, that follows," he answered, nodding. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Nate which made him none the wiser when it came to formulating a response.

"Would you two like to share quarters?"

Nate cleared his throat, and took another swig of ale. Anders removed his hand and played innocent.

"I was just comforting him! He was sad about his family!"

"You're not promised, then?" Velanna clarified.

"We're certainly not engaged! I don't even think that's possible. Is it possible?" Anders asked, looked to Nate for confirmation. Nate promptly choked on his ale and returned the mug to the table with a resounding 'thud!'

"What, for two men?" 

"For a mage!"

He narrowed his eyes and thought back to his schooling days. He had never, at length, studied Ferelden law or paid much attention to the Chants.

"I don't remember any law saying mages can't get married..."

"Can you imagine the look on your father's face if I..." Anders began, grinning with childish glee. Then he remembered Velanna was still standing at his shoulder and stopped talking.

"I see," she responded, with great emphasis, drawing out each syllable. She was clearly not amused by the circles they were running around her perfectly simple and straight forward questions. "There is another matter! What about the child?"

"I told you, Velanna, I've already had the talk, and I've been very careful."

"The human child from the village needs a place to stay while we try to discover its family."

Anders sighed. He had forgotten about their young charge, who had fallen asleep for the greater part of their journey and been carried by the Commander, as quiet as a mouse. He supposed that meant he would be wide awake all night now.

"Can't you look after him?"

"I... was planning to share quarters," she stammered out, blushing to the tips of her ears. Anders smirked.

"Are you promised?"

"No! I've just been..."

"Holding hands outside of wedlock? Andraste would not approve, but I'm sure Elven Gods are more reasonable. They'd just look the other way."

"Anders, stop!" Nate chided. "We're very happy for you both."

"Are _we_?" Anders asked, raising a brow. He was not in the habit of having other people answer for him how he felt, or what he thought. If it was anyone else, or any other circumstance, he might take offense. This time, because it was Nate, he let it slide.

"And I'd be happy to share quarters, if Anders doesn't mind."

"What? Oh, sure. Why not?" 

"That leaves the child... with either our Commander or Oghren."

"I would suggest he stay with the Commander. Oghren keeps teaching him... songs. Dwarven songs. Sigrun refuses to tell me what they mean."

"Sigrun knows best," Nate insisted. Velanna gave them both a curt nod—she did not care for salutes or handshakes—and departed. "Poor kid," he said after she left. "He went from having two decent parents to having six who don't have a clue what they're doing."

"He'll be alright. The Commander took care of an Archdemon, she can take care of one kid."

"Keeping children alive is a lot harder than killing darkspawn, trust me. I come from a big family." Anders, who scarcely knew his family, bowed to what he presumed was Howe’s superior knowledge on the subject.

"Do you really want to go through with this?" Anders asked.

"What?"

"A public declaration! Everyone is going to know now."

"So what, they give us hell for a few days, then get bored and move onto something else." Anders was used to being talked about, but he knew Nathaniel was shy. He would turn the conversation in a different direction.

"Do you think Sigrun and Velanna... do you think that will last? They're so different! Polar opposites!" Like them. Hot and cold. Witty and charming and… aloof and stoic. Maybe he had hit on some kind of formula. If only he could figure out how to bottle it.

"They're happy, that's all that matters,” Nathaniel answered quietly.

"Are you?"

"Yes, now I am."

"I wonder if Grey Wardens are ever allowed to go on holiday. A real holiday, I mean, not the Calling. We could go somewhere really nice."

"Like where?"

"Somewhere with beaches and sunlight."

"That would be a change!"

"Maybe Antiva, or Rivain..."

"I'll ask the Warden-Commander."

"No, not now. Ask her once this is all over. She might say no. I could face any threat on Thedas if I thought afterwards I might know what it’s like to be free, even if only for a few days. I need that dream, something to cling to, even if it’s only a dream."

"I'll take you to Antiva."

"You promise?" Anders had never 'gone on holiday' before, unless you call being mercilessly pursued through the mountains by heavily-armed Templars and carted home in chains a holiday.

"You have my word," he said, hand on his heart. 

He wanted to make things right. He would have done anything, gone anywhere, to make Anders happy.

"The word of a Howe doesn't amount to much these days, but thanks." He leaned forward and kissed him, lightly, on the cheek. Then he got up and headed for the door. It took Nathaniel a few moments to react. 

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"To ask the innkeeper for some water, so I can take a bath." He had managed to wash some of the grime off from their last battle, but it was not ideal having any darkspawn blood on his nice robes, or in his hair, at all. "Then I can thank you some more."


	7. Mages & Templars

Nathaniel left their room first thing the following morning, and ran into the Warden-Commander, who was taking inventory of their supplies.

"Good morning!" She chimed, in remarkably good spirits. "You're up early! Or did Anders' snoring keep you awake?"

Nathaniel always woke up early. It was a habit drilled into him when he was still a squire, and expected to hunt and cook his own breakfast each morning or else go hungry. What was strange was seeing her up so early. 

"Does he snore?" Nathaniel asked, one brow raised. "I didn't notice."

"Please... be patient with him. I know he talks, and he turns everything into a joke, but... he's a good man, really. He doesn't mean it. He just needs a friend. I've tried to be that for him, but... my duties here have kept me very busy, and I know I spend too much time away from the Vigil, but I... was hoping you could help him. A friend his own age, from his own people... might help him adjust to Warden life."

The Commander, for all her good intentions, knew precious little about humans and their customs. They may have both been human, but they were assuredly _not_ of the same kind. Nate gave little thought to his noble upbringing, and never used it as an excuse to lord over others, but... he knew that Sigrun, Oghren, and Anders resented him for his noble blood.

"We don't have much in common," Nate replied. "But I'll talk to him."

He went to take a bath, then returned to their room. Anders was still in bed, barely covered by a blanket. Nate tugged the blanket away, and Anders gave a muffled protest, the same he gave when Nate threw back the curtains, this time reaching for a pillow and burying his face in it, eyes still fixed tightly shut. The Sun was too much for him in his delicate state; losing his only blanket, the final straw. Just how much ale did he down the night before? He had seemed perfectly sober when... Nate tried not to dwell on last night, or on how handsome the naked man in his bed looked. After all, they had work to do.

"Wake up! We're leaving in an hour."

"You're a cruel man, Nathaniel Howe."

He had no idea _how_ cruel. He was dangerously close to shoving him off the bed altogether.

"You won't believe what the Commander just told me! She thinks you need a friend, and has elected me for the job," Nate explained, sitting on his side of the bed, and running a hand gently over Anders' bare shoulder and back. His skin was soft, but still bore several bruises and scars. He had two particularly bad ones cutting across his shoulder blades from some Templars. He knew Anders was shy about them, so tactfully let his hand graze by without a comment, as if he saw such scars everyday, although it did shock him the first time he saw them. The scars were large and tinged faintly blue. They had used magebane, apparently. He wondered if it hurt when they dispelled magic. 

"You were _very_ friendly last night. Want to try again?" Anders asked, lifting his head from his pillow cave. If he had to wake up, he would need some kind of incentive. Today, 'fighting darkspawn' just wasn't going to cut it. "They won't have to wonder anymore about you and the Wardens' most eligible apostate, if you're too busy screaming my name to fight darkspawn." Anders reached out, letting a hand lightly graze his chest, imploringly.

Nate opened his mouth, flushed a shade paler, then immediately closed it, not having a smart reply this time.

"Get dressed," he instructed, abruptly standing up and letting Anders' hand fall away. "It's a waste of time trying to talk to you."

"You didn't want to talk last—"

"Anders!" He snapped, running out of patience. Nate finished putting on armour and packing his kit in silence. Anders lazily yawned, stretched, stumbled out of bed, and proceeded to get dressed. He slid on his favourite Tevinter robes and idly did up the straps.

They went downstairs together into the main foyer. Everyone was there except Velanna, including the boy, who was playing with a wooden toy horse. Oghren had apparently bought it for him, along with two wooden swords. The biggest surprise of the morning was noticing how quickly Oghren had taken to the human lad.

"Morning, boys! While you were sleeping, Sigrun and I have been busy asking around town. We are trying to find his parents. Haven't had any luck yet."

"I vote we keep him!" Oghren said. "The little blighter has spirit. He could make a fine Grey Warden one day."

"I suppose _'my parents were eaten by ogres'_ is as good a reason to join the Wardens as any," Anders quipped. He was quickly forgetting his own. Sigrun covered the boys' ears and shot Anders a glare. The Commander simply shook her head. 

"He's not a stray dog, we can’t simply keep him. Besides, the Keep's no place for a child," the Warden-Commander countered.

"You gave Anders that mangy, flea-bitten cat!" Oghren complained. 

“Ser Pounce-a-lot is _not_ mangy!” Anders rebuked, hotly.

“We could always leave him with the Chantry…” the Commander suggested. 

“You wouldn’t dare!” Anders was the first to object. Even Oghren looked surprised.

“What?” The Commander asked, taken aback.

“You know what the Chantry’s like! They’ll raise him as a Templar, get him addicted to lyrium by the time he’s fifteen, and he’ll be out prowling the countryside, slaughtering mages before you know it!”

“If we cannot find the child’s parents, I may know someone who would… look after him, for awhile, until a suitable guardian is found," Nathaniel suggested.

“Who?” Anders asked.

“My sister.”

“Your sister? You mean Delilah?” 

During their first trip to Amaranthine, Nathaniel had run into his sister for the first time in years, only to find her living quite happily, and simply, in the city with her husband. She was expecting a child of her own. Apparently their father had not taken kindly to news of her engagement, and left the young couple to fend for themselves. Now that their father was dead, Nathaniel thought it only right to restore to her some of what she lost. If what remained of the estate fell into Nathaniel’s hands, he would divide it up equally, and send whatever he could to Delilah. He had promised her that, when it was the best he could do. Since that first, brief reunion, he had not seen her in person, but they had exchanged several letters. He had no way of knowing how she would react to him turning up on her doorstep with an orphan, but if his parents were dead… she might take pity on the boy, and help them look for another guardian.

“Very well. If you think she can help, ask her. Until then… we’ll keep searching. Even if his parents are… no longer with us, he may have relatives living somewhere in, or near, the city. As long as there's a chance… we won’t give up on him.”

“What’s his name?” Anders asked with a yawn. Oghren and the boy had taken up their swords and were now dueling. Anders took care to stand well back, knowing how good Oghren’s aim was, but observed the proceedings with pensive interest.

“Eron Padlen. I can hear you, you know, Ser,” the boy replied lightly, turning around, sword still in hand. While he was facing Anders and had his back turned to Oghren, the dwarf shoved the sword between his arm and side, and gave a triumphant cry.

_“Ha! Got you!”_

“Not fair! I wasn’t looking!” The boy cried, then returned his gaze to Anders, who was scrutinizing him suspiciously. “So why’s he wearin' a dress, then?” 

“It’s not a dress, it’s a robe,” Anders patiently explained. “Mages wear robes. Templars wear dresses.”

“It is _too_ a dress,” Oghren relented, snickering. Sigrun shook her head.

“You’re… a mage?” Eron asked, with a look of either awe or fear.

“Yes, I am a mage—and a healer—and a Grey Warden, at your service.” He offered his hand. The boy did not seem to notice. 

“The villagers said my grandfather was a mage.”

“Oh, did they? Huh. Small world. I wonder if you’ll turn out to be a mage, too?” Anders queried. Magic sometimes skipped a generation, but it often ran in families. ‘Lyrium in the blood,’ they used to call it, but if that were true, then all the Templars who settled down to start a family would end up raising flocks of little mage-lings. Oghren rolled his eyes.

“That’s just what we need, another Warden throwing fireballs around the Keep. I’m going to make this boy a warrior like me! We don’t need any of your… your fancy tricks, Sparkle-fingers!”

“Maybe he has magic already! We should test him!” Anders insisted, taking one of Elon’s arms, while Oghren took the other, and growled at him.

“Please unhand the boy, you’re going to tear him in two!” The Commander ordered, and Sigrun ran to his aid. She turned to Nathaniel and looked him over, trying—and failing—to read his expression. “Are you sure about this? Leaving him with your sister?”

“It’s worth a try. Let me write to her, at least.”

“Anders may be right. What if the boy does have magic?”

“Oh Maker, no. Don’t tell me you would still send him to the Chantry, knowing his grandfather was a mage! They’d pack him off to join the Circle before he’d learned his first spell!”

“What do you want us to do? Make him an apostate?” The Commander asked, one brow raised. She was genuinely interested in what Anders suggested as an alternative to the Circle, for all his complaints. There was, sadly, no viable alternative for young mages who wished to learn how to control their magic. They were as much a risk to themselves as they were to others, and liable to fall prey to demons without supervision of some sort. Even in Dalish clans, young elves with magic were basically tied to their Keeper's apron until they were old enough, and proficient enough, to control their magic. 

“Give him a proper childhood! He deserves that much. Raise him as you would any other kid, with a family who love him, and food, and games, and fresh air, and…” _all the things he never had. All the things which were stolen from him._ Nathaniel gave him a sympathetic look, sensing where this was going. He wished he could take his hand and comfort him… but knew that was the last thing he wanted now. He was not only sad, but angry. He did not want this child to be cheated out of the life he had lost because of his magic. Anders often spoke about the Circle, but remained curiously quite about any life he had before the Circle. In the end, it was Sigrun who asked, before Nathaniel could.

“How did your family take it?” 

Anders was silent for several long, protracted minutes. When he did speak, he could not bring himself to meet Sigrun’s eyes. He gazed fixedly at some spot on the floor.

“They sent for the Templars, didn’t they? My Father saw me practicing magic, the most harmless spell, and he lost his temper, said I was a monster, and sent for the Templars. My mother loved me, she said she loved me, but she… she let them take me away, just the same. She didn’t even try to stop him! She thought it was for the best, that the Chantry would know… what was best.” He was such a good Andrastian as a boy. Always said his prayers. He never questioned it, until he saw the look in his father’s eyes when he used the Chantry’s own words like a weapon again him… but that was all in the past, now. That had all happened long ago. “I won’t let that happen to him.”

Velanna had walked in while Anders was talking. Nathaniel had not noticed her walk in. He had been struck dumb by Anders' story. Anders was on the verge of tears. Nathaniel wanted desperately to comfort him, but something kept him frozen to the spot, as if paralyzed. Sigrun edged forward, lightly patted his back with one hand and took hold of his arm with the other.

“I’m sorry I asked, if I had known… oh, but that’s horrific!” She exclaimed, clearly moved. “He’s right. Whoever takes this kid… we have to make sure they will love and protect him, no matter what.”

“I was so happy when I learned I had magic. I never stopped to think.. how different it is, for humans,” Velanna commented quietly in a small voice. “But we will see the child is cared for, won’t we?”

“I’m writing a letter to my sister at once, before we leave… she may know what to do,” Nathaniel decided. He was already going over, in his head, what words he would use.

“Alright, but hurry up. We have a lot of errands to run in town!” the Commander cautioned. Nathaniel nodded, found some parchment and ink, and set to work at once on his letter, on one of the tavern tables. Anders, Oghren, and Sigrun, meanwhile, played games with Eron, while Velanna watched, arms crossed, and the Commander bartered with the innkeeper. As Nathaniel finished his letter and signed his name, Anders crept up behind him and lightly touched his shoulders.

“Guess where we’re going?” He whispered, smiling. He had quickly returned to his former high-spirits.

“Where?” Nathaniel asked, half-afraid he would regret it the moment the question left his mouth.

“On a secret mission!” 

“On a… secret mission?” Nathaniel repeated, giving him a doubtful look.

“Ran into an old friend of mine last time I was in Amaranthine. She said she had a lead, thought she might know where my phylactery is. I’m supposed to meet her this afternoon.”

“Oh, a friend?”

“Do you realise what this means?! If we do find my phylactery, I could be free. I could run away. The Templars would never find me."

"You still want to run away?" Nate asked, unable to conceal the dismay from his voice. He had hoped joining the Grey Wardens would be enough for him. He had hoped _he_ would be enough. He wanted to believe Anders could be happy here, too. 

Anders paused, and his smile fell away the moment he saw Nate's face. He reached out, gently took up his hand. "Don't worry! I'd take you with me."

He smiled when Anders pressed his hand. Maybe his father was right about something—he was too soft.

"Anyway, it was just an idea. After we kill the Architect, they won't need us, right?" 

"You make it sound so easy!"

"It will be. We've got you."

“We’re leaving!” Sigrun called, sticking his head into the Tavern. Anders and Nathaniel both turned their heads to look at her. Anders let fall his hand and stood upright, then strode casually towards the door and past Sigrun. Nathaniel sealed his letter, put it in an envelope, wrote out Delilah’s name and address from memory, and then joined them outside the inn. 

Together they walked towards town, with Eron in tow, toy sword in hand. Oghren encouraged him to put it away, so as not to scare the poor villagers, but he relented. The Commander smiled appreciatively at them, amused by how quickly the crass warrior had taken to the human boy. Her Wardens were always full of surprises.

 

***

 

Their first port of call was the marketplace, where the Commander bought Nathaniel a new pair of leather gloves.

“Hey, what about me?” Sigrun pined. “I’ve worn holes through mine!”

“Have you already forgotten about the boots I bought you last time we were here?”

“Oh, those.” Sigrun sighed. They were nice boots. Something shiny caught her eyes, and her fingers itched. She was racked by temptation. The Commander grabbed hold of her arm when she strayed a little too close to some bejewelled baubles.

“Careful, Sigrun. You can look, but don’t touch.”

“Oh, but they’re so pretty!” She exclaimed with a forlorn sigh, clasping her hands together. 

“If you want anything… I can buy it for you.”

Velanna’s ear pricked at that. 

“I know, Boss! I’m just admiring them. What do I need with jewellery? I just like a challenge.”

Nathaniel wandered off to the other end of the market, to look at bows. Sigrun skipped off to admire them with him, although she was clueless when it came to archery, she still knew good craftsmanship when she saw it.

Velanna lightly touched the Commander’s shoulder.

“I have a question, Commander.”

“Yes, Velanna? You know my name.”

“I would rather call you Commander. I would like to get Sigrun a gift. You have often given her gifts. You know what she likes. I was wondering… if you could help me.”

“You know Sigrun better than I do! Has she not dropped any hints?” The Commander asked, tilting her head. Velanna shook her head ‘no.’ “Well! She’s a strange one. She's not one for practical gifts, she likes… all sorts of oddities, really, things she’d never find in Orzhammer... like that little telescope I got her weeks ago! Can’t put it down! She’s always gazing up at the sky with it, says she’s trying to catch a star!”

Velanna’s lips moved, and her brows furrowed. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on something.

“Yes, so you want me to get her something… useless.”

“Yes! Like flowers!”

“Flowers are not useless!” Velanna snapped. “They purify the air, and renew the earth!”

“You know what I mean—she can’t fight with them, she can’t eat them, but she might enjoy them, all the same. They don’t have flowers where she comes from, so they’re… special. Hey, I know—Nathaniel and I will keep her distracted, and you and Anders can look around the marketplace, see if you spot something nice?” Velanna reluctantly agreed to the Commanders terms. She had not gotten along with Anders in the past, and did not take kindly to being paired off with him, but understood the Commander had good intentions. The Commander, at once, flitted off to speak with Sigrun, Nathaniel, and a merchant overeager to be rid of his wares. 

Anders stood off on his own, sorting through rows of jarred herbs, trying to remember the ingredients to this or that potion off the top of his head. He was beginning to regret not having paid closer attention during his potions class. Velanna walked up to him, and when she spoke, seemed to wake him violently from a kind of trance.

“Velanna! It’s you! What do you want?!” He asked, taking the offensive at once, as was his custom when speaking with Velanna, now. 

“I need your help. I’m looking for a gift for Sigrun.”

“A gift? What for?”

“To show… I have feelings.”

“Oh, good. I was beginning to think you didn’t have any.”

“I have many feelings, human!” She snapped, aggressively.

Anders smiled at that. All the others simply called him ‘mage,’ but she called him ‘human.’ In a way, it was a step up for him, being placed on the same standing with the rest of humanity, although he imagined most of humanity would object to his inclusion. 

Eron was standing in front of a table full of useless baubles. He picked up a snowglobe with one hand, admired it for a moment, then quickly set it down, picking up something else, instead—and old book, nothing remarkable, but it had a few interesting pictures.

“That’s it!” She cried. She raced forward, picking up the snowglobe in her small, delicate, gloved hands. “She would love this!”

“Oh, right! Of course! Nothing says ‘romance’ like a tiny glass sphere full of… salt?” He guessed.

“Snow!”

“Snow!” He edged closer, squinted his eyes to examine it. “Is that a little halla? And a few trees! Delightful!”

“That snowglobe was imported from Orlais!” The shopkeeper said, once he had finished serving another customer, and caught the gleam of appreciation in her eyes which meant she would be an easy mark to fleece. Anders was not having that, whatever his personal feelings towards the woman.

“Looks like it was imported from Denerim,” he rebuked. “I’ll give you ten silvers for it.”

“Ten silvers! What do you think I’m doing here, giving priceless family heirlooms away for nothing?!”

“Priceless! It isn’t worth five silvers, and you know it! I’m being generous!”

Velanna tugged at his arm.

“I wouldn’t mind paying fifteen…” 

“Thirty silvers! I will accept no less!” 

“Alright, fifteen. What the lady wants, the lady gets.”

“Twenty-five!”

“You’re having me on!”

“Very well, you can have it for fifteen. Just give me your silvers and get out of here, before I call those Templars over and say you and your friend have been making trouble,” the shopkeeper suggested, leaning in. Anders looked over his shoulder, half-expecting his threat to be a bluff, and noticed a few Templars standing off to the corner, talking amongst themselves. None of them seemed to take any notice of him. Anders shoved the coins into his hand and abruptly marched away, as Velanna looked for some place to hide her newest acquisition. He led her rather abruptly, by the arm, and was holding it a little too tightly for her liking.

“Let go of me! What was that for? I’ll pay you back as soon as I get to the Keep…”

“Some of us are trying very hard to avoid the Templars. Just because you don’t have a phylactery doesn’t make you any less of an apostate, now that you no longer have your Clan to protect you," he reminded her.

She went quiet, studied him for a long moment through narrowed, haughty eyes. Then, as quickly as her temper had been provoked, all anger faded from her.

“I’m sorry about your family. That must have been… difficult, for you.” Sympathy? From Velanna? This was... new.

“Thanks. I don’t exactly cry myself to sleep about it, but… thanks.” He could tell she was trying to be nice. Her intentions were good. Still, it was not a subject he liked discussing. “Hey, if you help me, we’ll be squared. I need a gift for Nathaniel.”

“But you said you weren’t—”

“We’re not ‘promised,’ we’re just… I need a ‘thank you’ gift.”

“A ‘thank you’ gift?” Velanna repeated, with a questioning look. 

“A _surprise_ thank you gift,” he reminded her, lowering his voice and hoping she would follow suit. She nodded, eyes still narrowed, then with a heavy sigh, surveyed the market tables and kiosks.

“Well, knowing Nathaniel, he would probably want something… practical. Like that whetstone over there. He could use it to sharpen his daggers.”

“That’s a terrible gift!” Anders scowled. “No, I want it to be something… personal, which no one else would think to give him.”

“Then why are you asking me?” Velanna asked, tilting her head to one side.

“I’m beginning to wonder.” 

"Give him something important to you, that's what elves do."

 _Like what?_ He wondered. Mages were not really allowed to keep things, and there was precious little he had managed to grab from his chest before he ran away... except for one thing.

The others had finished making their purchases and were ready to move on. Eron had already wandered off to re-join them, and was tugging at Sigrun's arm, laughing.

"Anders!" Nathaniel cried, signalling they were ready to move on. A smile played across the Commander's lips. Anders and Velanna joined them and the group walked on through the city, with the Commander and Oghren taking the lead.

"At least he's started calling him by his name. That's something,” she mumbled to Oghren, in passing, who smiled and shook his head. He had seen the way Howe had taken to looking at Anders, and presumed it went a good deal further then ‘name-calling,’ but for once decided to hold his tongue. 

***

Anders got a particular thrill out of the rest of the Wardens’ ignorance. No one suspected innocent, well-behaved, proper and polite Nathaniel to be carrying on with a wanted apostate like him. He was particularly impressed by how blissfully unaware the Warden-Commander was. The only person who really knew was Sigrun, but even then, Anders had never confirmed it. Now seemed the ideal time. After all, what’s the fun of a joke no one else is in on? Besides, he trusted Sigrun to keep a secret. They were friends.

“Sigrun…” he began. 

“Don’t.” 

“What?”

“Whatever prank you’re up to, now, I don’t want to know about it.”

“There’s no prank! I just wanted to talk about…”

“Anders!” An elven woman cried, clearly surprised to see him. Anders turned around to face the familiar voice, and his eyes widened as she rushed up to him. She immediately kissed him, throwing both arms around his neck.

“A friend of yours?” The Warden-Commander asked, raising one brow. 

“You could say that. What are you doing here?” He asked, a little shell-shocked. She looked, confused, past Anders at his strange assembly of misfits. Then she gave him a searching look. "They're friends. Don't worry," he reassured her.

“I found the warehouse. Be careful.” She leaned closer, and slid a bit of paper between a fold at the top of his robes, then let go of him and stepped back. She looked him over one last time and then shook her head, sadly. “This is the last time I help a mage,” she added before walking away. Anders watched her leave in stunned silence. Oghren and Velanna looked particularly surprised. Nathaniel was busy gazing, with great concentration, at his own boots. This must have been the 'friend' he mentioned earlier. Nathaniel had almost forgotten all about them.

“When’s the wedding?” The Commander teased, edging closer so she could elbow him, playfully, in the side. Anders bit his tongue. He unfolded the scrap of paper and looked it over. A map had quickly been scrawled over it, and a few notes.

“I expect you want an explanation. I don’t have time to give you one. But this warehouse… may be where they’re keeping my phylactery.”

“Your… what?” Sigrun asked, squinting. She guessed it was a mage-thing. Elf-things and mage-things tended to run together in her head. Velanna was her first introduction, after all, to elves, and it was hard to figure out where the elfy-ness ended and the mage-ness began. It all sounded a bit mad to her. Ancestors preserve Eron if he _did_ turn out to be a mage. He had a lot of madness to look forward to.

“A vial of my blood. The Templars keep phylacteries for all the mages taken to the Circle, so if they run away, they’re easier to hunt down. They have mine. Until it’s gone… I’ll never be completely free from them.”

“But you’ve joined the Wardens! Surely they can't take you back now!”

“There are Templars who don’t… respect... the Wardens. There are Templars who still think Loghain was right to distrust them. They might not care. They might still come for me. I won’t know I’m truly safe until it’s gone—for good.” He was lying to her. Nathaniel knew he was lying to her. He wanted his phylactery gone so he could have the freedom to leave the Wardens, if he so choose. He knew as long as he was with them, he was safe, but the Circle had taught him to be claustrophobic. He needed an exit plan. Nathaniel was not sure, yet, how he felt about this particular plan, but he would not betray his confidence.

“Very well! Let’s go. Oghren, Nathaniel… look after Eron. We’re going to see some Templars about a phylactery.” 

“I’m coming with you,” Nathaniel snapped, determined. That surprised the Commander a little—he was usually so good at following orders. 

“Oh? Very well, suit yourself. Velanna?” She asked, turning her name into a question.

“I’m coming too,” she answered.

“Sigrun?”

“I’ll… stay with Oghren and the kid. Be careful, Velanna. Just because they don’t have _your_ phylactery doesn’t mean they can’t hurt you, too. Templars are really good at hurting mages.”

“I’ll be careful.” Velanna promised. 

They made there way at once to the warehouse—it was thankfully close by. The Templars were no longer standing on the corner where Anders and Velanna had left them, but the warehouse itself appeared to be empty when Nathaniel broke the lock. The four marched inside. Nathaniel insisted on going first. Once Nathaniel had made a thorough investigation of the warehouse, and could say with confidence they were alone, they began investigating the various boxes, wardrobes, and cupboards within it, in search of anything that looked like a phylactery. Finally, in one of the backrooms, Anders stumbled across a cabinet full of what appeared to be small vials. He called Nathaniel over and asked him to break the lock. Nathaniel picked it, instead—which took more time, but also meant they could steal whatever vial Anders needed and then lock the cabinet up, so the Templars were none the wiser when they came to collect them. Anders had other ideas. 

“I’m just making sure mine’s here. Then we can destroy the whole cabinet.”

“What?” Nathaniel snapped, in a rather loud whisper.

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“Is it? You’re just asking the Templars to make you a target!”

“Is that what you really think?”

Velanna walked in and saw them arguing. 

“He’s right. We need to destroy the cabinet. It’s not right what your Chantry is doing, locking up mages and keeping them in cages,” she insisted. The Warden-Commander walked in after her, hand hovering close to the hilt of her sword, just in case. She had come to expect the unexpected.

“Have you found it yet? Hurry up!” She muttered. “Who knows when those Templars will show up?”

Anders looked through the vials, which were all neatly labelled. He recognized a couple of the names. They were alphabetized. He looked for his own name—his birth name, the name he never used, the name he never gave, the name he had worked so hard to distance himself from—but could not find it among them. He checked, instead, under the ‘A’ section, just in case… but no, there were no ‘Anders’ either. 

“Something’s wrong. Mine isn’t here.”

“Of course it isn’t. You don’t think we’d let you win that easily, do you, Anders?” A heavily-armed woman asked, with a voice like a song.

“Oh Maker,” Anders gave a long sigh and closed his eyes, hitting his head against the glass of the cabinet. To his dismay, it did not shatter. _'Anyone but her,'_ he thought.

Nathaniel leapt to his feet and stood between Anders and the Templar. Velanna and the Commander stood at the ready, sword and staff drawn, respectively. They moved to Nathaniel’s side. He drew his bow, but the Templars were too quick for them. Anders tried to cast paralysis, but before he could, she muttered the words, under her breath, which would dispel magic.

Velanna lifted her staff and tried to cast earthquake, but nothing happened. She reached inside of her, but the magic was gone. The mana in her veins was gone. It was all… gone. 

“What have they done?” She gasped. She had never felt this empty before, this weak, this powerless… she hated it. She took the carving knife at her belt and leapt at the nearest Templar, knife drawn, and slashed at his face and throat, like a wild animal. The Warden-Commander also rushed forward, and launched an attack on the head Templar. Nathaniel tried to fire an arrow through the third Templar, but they kept being deflected by his armour. He switched to daggers. Before he leapt into the battle, he turned to Anders, who looked scared to death and pale as a sheet now that he was without his magic. Nathaniel lightly touched his shoulder.

“Stay back. I won’t let them hurt you,” Nathaniel assured him, softly, gently.

Anders meekly nodded his head. He was taller than him, but looked so small in that moment, smaller and frailer then he had ever seen him before. All life went out of him, without his magic, all spirit. Nathaniel turned on the first Templar, the one who had done this to him, and went to strike her first, while the Commander was keeping her busy, parrying with her, then deflecting an incoming blow with her shield. Nathaniel stabbed her in the back twice, finding a weak spot in her armour, and she crumbled to the floor. Velanna finished off the second and started on the third. Nathaniel helped take her down, while the Commander set to work on the forth. Anders was still cowering, helpless, in the corner, watching this scene play out with wide, frightened eyes. When they had finished killing the Templars, they stepped back to survey what they had done. Velanna was still gasping for breath, and looking more like a wolf than ever before, covered in blood from where she’d sliced viciously at the Templars face. Nathaniel and the Commander exchanged a long look.

“You… you killed them,” Anders said, with a sunken voice. The Commander nodded.

“Aye, we killed them. They won’t be bothering you again.”

“I think I love you!” He added, ruefully, locking eyes with the Commander. 

“What are friends for?” She responded with a wry smile. She looked at Nathaniel, who still had a dagger in either hand. “Give me those, I’ll clean them off. Go fetch your bow. I’m going to see if there’s another way out of this place, we might attract attention walking down the streets like this, drenched in the blood of our enemies,” she said, pointing to the blood smeared across her face. She had caught her reflection in one of the Templar’s breastplates. Credit where credit was due—they did take good care of their armour.

“What are we going to do about the… the bodies?” Anders asked, stammering a little. His heart was still racing.

“Don’t worry about that! I’m sure someone will find them. Eventually. You look after yourself. We’ll find your phylactery—one day.”

Anders nodded absentmindedly. He was making a point of avoiding Nathaniel’s eyes as he walked up to him, and then bent down to pick up the bow he had cast aside during the fighting, when his arrows proved no match for their armour.

Nathaniel offered his hand in silence. Anders was still clinging close to the cabinet, waiting for his magic to return, waiting for the Templar’s spell or… whatever it was… to wear off. He hated this feeling. He hated how powerless he was to help Nathaniel and Velanna and the Commander when they needed him most. He hated how foolish he had been, to bring them here in the first place. Anders took his hand and Nathaniel gave him a faint smile, helping him weave his way across some broken glass and smashed boxes, casualties of the struggle. Nathaniel then turned and set off on his own, towards the door, and followed the Commander out of the warehouse. Anders noticed a light shining out from among the glass and leaned down to pick it up, before followed a few paces behind them, with his head down, unusually quiet. After they had departed the warehouse, they searched for a nearby pond where they quickly stripped and washed the blood off their armour and weapons. They would have to return to the city, and did not want to attract any attention. Anders, who had managed to stay out of the combat, clung to a quiet spot on the shore. Nathaniel made some excuse to break away from the others and walked gingerly along the edge of the pond until he stood next to Anders. It was dusk, now, but the light was dwindling fast. It would soon be pitch black out. Before he could speak, Anders suddenly turned to him and spoke in a flurry of words, one overriding the other.

“I’m sorry. I led you into their trap. I didn’t know,” he began, stumbling through the dark, trying to find the right words. “I had no idea! I would never… _Nathaniel, I can’t do this!”_ He finally exclaimed, and gave an exhausted cry, clenching his hands into fists.

“Can’t do what?” Nathaniel asked quietly, softly, in a low voice. No one could hear them, but the others could still see them, if they wanted. They were only on the other side of the pond. He had to be careful, if he wanted to avoid a scene. 

“In there… you were outnumbered, and I couldn’t help you, and they nearly… she nearly… killed you. _Because of me._ Because you tried to defend me.”

“I’m already a Grey Warden. I expected danger when I joined.”

“Our lives are too dangerous. It was wrong of me to think… to believe we could ever…” 

Nathaniel reached forward, clamped one hand on his shoulder.

“Stop,” he said. Anders fell silent, and simply looked at him, large amber eyes perfect circles, pupils dilated in the dwindling light. “Do I look like I’m running away?”

He shook his head ‘no’ without answering.

Nathaniel removed his hand, rolled his shoulders, and slid backwards a step. “Did it hurt when the Templars dispelled your magic?”

“It’s worse than pain. You feel so weak, so empty, so powerless… as if all the life has left your body, and all your strength. It’s terrible, Nate!”

“I’m sorry, Anders. Do you want to be alone?” Nate asked.

“Yes,” he answered quietly, still gazing into the pond below his feet, then as soon as Nate took a few steps away, he quickly went: “No. Wait!”

“What?” Nate asked, turning to face him.

“I was going to give you a present, but I…” He tried to smile. “It broke.” He fished out of his pocket a thin silver amulet—a good luck charm he had carried with him since he was a boy. Velanna had told him to make the gift personal, so he thought… but now it was too late. During the fight, it had slipped out of his pocket and been crushed underfoot by one of the Templars. 

Nate edged tentatively forward, and took up the chain from Anders’ outstretched hand, and inspected it in the half-light. 

“You know what? I bet Wade could fix this. Thank you, Anders.” 

It was quite dark now. He took a chance that no one was looking, or if they were, no one could see them. He kissed him on the lips, one hand clasped over the back of his head and neck, holding him there, keeping him close. As they pulled away, he pressed his forehead against Anders' and revelled in the warmth of his breath, a welcome reprieve from the surrounding chill. All he wanted was for this to last. Nothing else mattered, now, except keeping Anders' safe. Someone else would have to save the world.


	8. Village of the Dead

"We need to go in to the Fade," Sigrun said.

"No. Absolutely not," Anders responded, crossing his arms and shaking his head as they stood before the Gate. "I'm not going back there. I remember what happened last time."

"That talking darkspawn dragged the Commander through a portal and you think we should... what? Wait it out? Have a picnic?" She asked. 

Anders obstinately refused to say another word; his mind was made up.

"Nathaniel's with her," Sigrun reminded him.

"Then she'll be safe!"

"So is Oghren."

 _"Reasonably_ safe!"

"Anders! What are you really afraid of?"

"What if... we're too late?" Sigrun gave him a quizzical look. "Too late to save them," he added quietly.

"The longer we wait here, the more likely that will be! Come on!"

Sigrun took him by the hand and, when he nodded his head, led him towards the tear in the veil. Velanna was studying it closely, running a hand through the strange. thin, transparent green light, which was somehow both hot and cold at the same time. She frowned, clearly concentrating very hard, and deep in thought.

"We're ready," Sigrun said, after clearing her throat to signify they were standing there. It took Velanna a moment to notice them.

Anders did not look ready, but he had run out of excuses. It was not his part to play the hero. Why did he ever agree to join the Wardens? Why did he let Nathaniel out of his sight, when he needed him most? Why did the Commander hesitate, when she had that darkspawn in her grasp, and could have so easily driven her sword through his heart? He had so many questions, but the answer to all of them was waiting on the other side of that portal.

"Is she coming, too?" Anders asked, gesturing towards Velanna. Sigrun shook her head.

"She needs to stay here. She can act as our tether between realms. She will send us through, and keep the veil open so we can come back out again," Sigrun explained. Anders looked Velanna over, a little surprised that Dalish mages were versed in such arts. It usually took five Enchanters and a cartload of lyrium to tear a veil allowing one Mage into the Fade, but... she must have been sure of herself, if she was sending Sigrun. 

"Take this map," Velanna said, passing a map wound up like a scroll to Sigrun. "I marked the places where magic is strongest, and the veil weakest. When you are ready to come back... I will try to open a portal at the place where I marked a cross."

Sigrun nodded, taking the map and pocketing it securely.

"Great. Wonderful. Let's go now before I change my mind," Anders said. Sigrun nodded, and looked to Velanna.

"Good-bye. Try not to have too much fun without me."

"I won't. Sigrun?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful."

"I will."

Sigrun was the first to step through the portal, leading a reluctant Anders after her. The last time he had gone to the Fade -- really gone, not just in dreams -- had been at his Harrowing, and that still hung heavily over him. He could vividly remember every detail. 

He was so young and afraid when he first walked alone through the Fade, all the Enchanters' watching him like vultures, waiting for him to flinch, waiting for him to make some fatal mistake which would condemn him to a life of tranquility, or a quick death at the hands of a Templar. Magic crackled through him; wild, untameable magic. He practically glowed, a beacon attracting demons from every side, and they would put on their most clever disguises. He met one who disguised himself as a mage who did not pass his Harrowing and was immediately cut down by a Templar. They would have made him Tranquil, but he fought back -- choosing to die rather then live on as their servant, their unfeeling automaton. The story was perhaps genuine, but... some demon had long since taken over and stolen his body. It tried to talk to him, console him, when he needed most consolation. How easily unsuspecting, vulnerable mages are tempted by demons.

He had been warned, beforehand, that demons would try to tempt him in the Fade, offering him power, wealth, or whatever else he 'most desired,' and that he should try to kill them as quickly as possible, so as not to be tempted, but... demons are cleverer than that. A demon, in the Fade, can see through you so easily. They see whatever it is you most desire, and whatever it is you most fear; they see into your dreams as well as your nightmares; and they use this knowledge against you. This demon knew what Anders most desired was not freedom, but a friend. It was so patient, so sympathetic, so helpful. Anders fought off and killed several lesser shades with this demon in mage robes' assistance. Lesser shades are nothing to a demon, only weak spirits who lacked the cunning to make offers before trying to possess a mage so they would put up no resistance. His demon helped him fight them off, one by one. Anders thought it was out of kindness. Then he asked Anders what he wanted most, and Anders answered: 'freedom.' He wanted to be free of the Circle. 

The demon asked if that was enough, if he did not want to go a step further, and make sure no mage could ever be stolen from their homes and families and locked up in that Maker-forsaken tower ever again, and trembling, on the verge of tears, Anders had said: _yes._ The demon wanted to follow Anders when he awoke, so that together, they could fight back, and make things right. After all, they made such a good team. Then the demon got carried away, he started talking about blood running red and vengeance against Templars and 'house-broken' mages everywhere, and Anders got scared and killed him. He turned back into a demon before he died, and Anders realised how easily he had been tricked. When he woke up, he found himself surrounded by Enchanters. He told them, of course, that he was bluffing--that he only pretended to accept his offer so he could kill him when his defenses were lowered. He pretended he knew all along what the demon was. When he was carted back to the apprentice chambers to collect his belongings, where he was congratulated by all the other apprentices, he felt like such a fraud. They did not know, even the Enchanters did not know, how perilously close he had come to accepting the demon's offer. 

They were back in the Fade. Sigrun had never been before. _'Dwarves don't dream,'_ he reminded himself. She was still holding his hand, but now her grip tightened, and he realised that she was no longer guiding him, so they would have to guide each other. She was out of her element here, where everything was blurred and distorted, and crumbled away at your touch, deceptive and cruel illusions lurking in every corner.

"Do you hear noise?" She asked, as they kept walking through the marsh.

"It's probably just my teeth chattering," Anders replied.

"Why are you afraid? I thought mages practically lived in the Fade!"

"I don't. I like... the ground, and walls, and... knowing where you are. I can _feel_ the demons, but I can't see them." He could also feel the lyrium; it was everywhere. It made his magic stronger; but it also made the spirits and demons who resided there so much more powerful than they were outside the Fade.

"That's good, isn't it? I can't feel anything."

"You're lucky you don't have any magic. You don't look like lunch."

Sigrun unwound the map and led the way. She found the place where the others had fallen through, but no one was there. She kept walking, occasionally stopping to place markers to ensure they did not circle the same tree twice, or get lost. If the worst came to pass... they could make a run for it, and try to escape out the portal they entered, if it was still there. She had no way of knowing whether or not it would still be there, but she had her fingers crossed. She was the last survivor of her entire campaign--that had to mean something, right? Some kind of luck was on her side.

"They should be about... here. This is the place where Velanna said the magic was strongest." Sigrun said, indicated with a gesture where they were standing on the map, then showed it to Anders, who could not care less. He heard shouting in the distance, and knew they had found them. He did not need a map to tell him trouble was nearby; he was a Warden, after all. He could sense the darkspawn. Sigrun grabbed hold of his arm.

"Anders... that's the lost village! They're alive!"

"Or not. Fade, remember?" Anders advised, knowing this was not her specialty area. This area of the Fade did look remarkably like the marsh they left behind, but the village, and the marsh itself, were restored to their former glory, as if all the buildings, its people, even the trees and plants and sunshine itself, had been trapped inside a time capsule and perfectly preserved. But there was still, nevertheless, something false about it, something illusory, as if the corners were frayed and it were threatening to unravel at any moment.

There was a large estate in the center of the village, which they could clearly spy from the hill overlooking the town where they stood. A crowd had amassed within its courtyard. He thought, when he narrowed his eyes, he could see the Commander among them. Then he heard a noise, as someone fumbled for an arrow, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Nathaniel!" Anders cried the moment he caught sight of him, he was so relieved to find him alive. He had almost given up hope.

The archer had snuck away from the crowd during the confusion, as the Commander tried, diplomatically, to keep the Noble Witch distracted by arguing with a heavily-armed darkspawn general, and now had his bow raised and arrow poised to fire at her.

Nathaniel swore under his breath. The Witch turned her head, seeing Nathaniel, who had hesitated for only a second -- but that second was long enough. He let fire the arrow, but she had time to cast a forcefield around herself. The barrier easily deflected the arrow. 

"Bring me that man!" She ordered, furious, and a few darkspawn henchmen nodded, then rushed to enact her orders. Anders did not have time to apologize before Nathaniel had grabbed him by the wrist and bolted. Sigrun, not yet discovered, decided the best thing she could do now was stay hidden. She laid down a trap and crept back into hiding. It slowed down their pursuers, but Sigrun knew it would not trap them for very long. She hoped they would be safe -- but she was not going to abandon their Commander with that demon-possessed noblewoman for anyone.

Anders struggled to keep up with Nathaniel, who was much better at running. Nathaniel quickly realised this and, not wanting to lose Anders altogether, decided they must settle on Plan B: find some place to hide, and hope the darkspawn kept running. Nathaniel, an expert hunter, sussed out a cave, and dragged Anders in, then searched it thoroughly to make sure they were alone. He half expected it to be occupied by a family of bears. He was having one of those days.

Anders remained silent, and stood close by the mouth of the cave, keeping an eye on Nathaniel. When he, finished with his search, walked back towards the mouth to peer out, Anders saw his chance to apologise and seized it.

"Nate, I..."

"I know," Nathaniel answered flatly, cutting him off.

"I was happy to see you."

He raised a brow, then looked away. He did not blame Anders, and he was not mad. He had to make Anders see he was not mad. He knew Anders had not given away his location on purpose. He had no way of knowing what was going on, and was taking one hell of a risk coming to the Fade at all. Mages may have spent more time in the Fade then those without magic, but even Nathaniel knew it was a dangerous place for mages. He could have exercised a little more tact and held his tongue until he knew what was going on, but... if he were the sort of person who thought before they spoke, he would not be Anders. 

"Even more darkspawn would be chasing me, now, if you had not interrupted me." _Because I might have shot down the woman responsible for all this,_ was politely left unsaid.

"I thought you were dead," Anders continued, his voice catching at the word. He wanted to be grateful, to celebrate the fact Nate _was_ alive -- but there was no way of knowing whether or not they would survive the night. They had physically entered the Fate. Nothing could downplay how dangerous that was. Very few people physically entered the Fade, and far fewer left.

"The day is still young," Nathaniel replied ominously.

 _No, don't you dare!_ Anders thought. _Don't start making jokes now, the one time I need you to be serious._

Anders stumbled a few steps towards him when Nathaniel, hearing the darkspawn approach, rushed forward, unexpectedly, slamming Anders against the stone wall of the Cave, and pinning him there so they could not be seen from outside.

"Ow!" He muttered. Nate clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Which way'd they go?" One of the Genlocks asked, pausing at the fork in the road.

"I can't smell 'em anymore," another replied, in a slightly higher register.

"You don't think... they found another portal?"

"Mistress will have our hide if we don't bring back those humans!"

"You know what waiting for portals is like! You wait for hours and as soon as one shows up, it's never the one you wanted."

The other one's mumbled something in reply they could not hear. The talking darkspawn kept walking, their voices slowly fading away as they drifted into the distance.

"Hmpgfhmhm!" Anders muttered, staring expectantly at Nate, who narrowed his grey-blue eyes and reluctantly removed his hand from Anders' mouth. Nate's other hand was still pinning Anders to the wall so he could not move.

"You were saying?" Nate asked, still pressed distractingly close against Anders, with hardly any space at all between them. Anders struggled to find his voice.

"Nate... I love you."

That caught him off-guard. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could... a branch broke, worryingly close. The both turned their heads to look at the same time. A darkspawn confidently strode into their cave, smiling delightedly when it caughy sight of them, and clamping its hands together with a clap.

"I found them!" They called out loudly. "Get in here!" Nate stepped back, away from Anders, and drew his axe. 

"Stand back," he instructed. Anders obeyed, sliding away from the wall but keeping several paces behind Nathaniel.

"What do you think you're doing, threatening me with that toy?" It unsheathed a broadsword twice its side. "You and your pet mage should have run when you had the chance. My Mistress is a vengeful woman. She does not take kindly to discourteous guests." They gave a battle cry and rushed forward. Nathaniel tried to fight defensively, keeping them at bay for as long as possible. The darkspawn was, however, resilient, and would not give up unless Nathaniel did something to slow them down. He scanned its armour, looking for any opening or weakness.

Anders carefully edged along the side of the cavern, trying to concentrate. His mind was a blur, and he struggled to remember a single spell. Suddenly, the right one came to him. He shot a bolt of electricity at the datkspawn while his back was turned to him. The darkspawn, startled, keeled over the instant Nathaniel swung his axe into his shoulder, crumbling to the ground in a heap. A smile slowly spread across Nathaniel's face when he did not get back up. That had been easier than he expected. 

"Magic is stronger in the Fade. There's a lot of lyrium floating around," Anders explained briefly. He did not have time to give a lecture on the subject, and was still out of breath. 

"I could kiss you!" Nate exclaimed with a grin.

Just then, two more darkspawn arrived. Traces of lightning still crackled around the fallen darkspawn.

"Get them! One's a mage!" The more heavily armed of the two barked.

Anders unleashed another bolt of electricity, which leapt from the first darkspawn to the next, but it did not slow them down. Nate charged forward, axe raised. He struck the darkspawn's armor, but could not sunder it. Anders let loose a flurry of attacks in quick succession, paralyzing them in ice -- but only briefly. 

Nate let fall the ax and this time it connected, killing the darkspawn instantly. The third put up more of a fight, although it was smaller it was also much quicker. Nate struggled to get the upper hand, while Anders tried to regain his strength. Finally, the darkspawn seized an opening, and grabbed Nate by the throat, blade ready.

Anders, running low on mana, picked up a large rock and knocked the smaller darkspawn over the head. It let go of Nate and collapsed unconscious to the floor. Nate ran his ax into his heart, finishing the job.

"Thanks," Nate said, as soon as he had caught his breath and regained his balance.

"We need to stop meeting this way," Anders said, setting down the lethal rock before eagerly checking Nate for injuries. Nate watched him, smiling faintly, then shook his head, taking hold of Anders' shoulder and lightly pushing him back.

"Anders... stop, I'm fine."

"I don't believe you."

"Were you really... worried about me?"

"I thought I'd lost you when you slipped through the Fade without me. I was never more afraid in my life." This was probably not the best time or place to have a heartfelt conversation, but near death experiences have a notorious knack for diminishing inhibitions. He had meant it when he said 'I love you,' but only because he thought they were going to die. Now that their doom was uncertain he was beginning to regret it. Perhaps it was too soon. Perhaps he should have kept his feelings to himself.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, but I couldn't abandon our Commander," Nathaniel explained, or started to.

"I know. That's just the way you are. Always have to play the hero. Don't think I've forgotten there was a time when you would have been glad to see her dead."

"It's easy to hate someone you don't know," Nathaniel replied. Now that he knew the Commander... he would have done anything, risked anything, to protect her. It was hard to look back and remember just how much he had hated her when she was only a name and he had plotted to assassinate her. He had never done anything like that before. He had never been so angry before. That must have been why he made so many mistakes, and practically walked into that prison cell -- maybe part of him knew, even then, when he felt his father's innocence beyond reproach... that he was making a mistake. Maybe part of him wanted to be captured. When the Warden found him... he had nothing left to live for. Now he had his sister, and a group of Wardens he was dangerously close to calling friends... he had lost his old family only to gain a new one.

"We should... probably go back."

Anders nodded assent, knowing it would be pointless to argue. He took Nate's pulse.

"Do you really love me?" Nate asked, when Anders was only a hairsbreadth away.

Anders tensed. Nate raised his hand, lightly clasped Anders wrist, willing him to meet his eyes.

"It came as a surprise to me, too. Don't tell anyone."

"Anders..." Nate started, then paused, considering him. "As long as I'm around, I promise... I won't let anyone hurt you."

Anders opened his mouth, wanting to make a smart reply, but found himself quite unable to. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He was not prepared for it. He wanted to thank Nate. He wanted to kiss him. Instead, he embraced him, burying his head in his shoulder.

"You really are one-of-a-kind, you know that?" Anders kept smiling incessantly as he pulled out from the embrace. Nate smiled back. "I can't believe I ever thought you were just another lanky, two-bit, third-rate assassin who had the misfortune of falling for my all too obvious charm."

Anders scrambled to his feet, helping Nate up, when he remembered they were trapped in the Fade and surrounded by dead darkspawn. They had wasted enough time. Their friends were probably in danger. They wove their way back through the woods to the village, with Nate leading the way, and picking Anders free every time he, or his robes, got trapped in some branches or thorny nettles, or he wandered off. Protecting that mage from harm might be a bigger challenge then he had anticipated if plants could outwit him, but he had meant his promise and fully intended to keep it. Wardens made a point of not thinking about the future, because they knew how uncertain it was, but... Nathaniel could not imagine a future without Anders. He was not sure whether or not that was love -- he had never been in love before, so he had nothing to compare it to -- but it did mean he cared. Anders was important to him, and the fact he braved the Fade and went all this way to rescue him meant... maybe he was important to Anders, too. He knew he talked too much. He flirted with everyone, mostly as a joke, but sometimes it made him wonder if he were enough for Anders... but now he knew. Anders took his hand, and looked him in the eyes, and he knew. He just hoped they would live long enough for it to matter.

They heard Oghren's piercing war cry cut through the air and knew they were close. Fighting was still underway, but the villagers, along with their fellow Grey Wardens, seemed to be winning. The Witch was still very much alive, and could not fail to notice this. She watched from her balcony with arms crossed, a scowl on her face, but obstinately refused to take part in the fighting, leaving that to her chorus of henchpeople.

"We need to create a distraction so the Commander can get to the balcony."

"One distraction coming up!" Anders' mana, now fully replenished after an invigorating run through the marshes, would be tapped dry, but he could create a storm from their overlooking hill that would leave the field of battle in chaos. As he charged up the spell, Nathaniel took out his bow and strung it with enchanted arrows, which burst into flame with a word. He would never have used enchanted arrows back home, where magic was strictly forbidden, but... he was beginning to see the advantages of magic, when used correctly. He was on the turn. Anders beamed proudly when he shot an arrow directly into the general's neck, in the gap between his helmet and his shoulder-plates. The tempest fell in full-force as he, and his compatriots standing close by, burst into flames. They panicked, rushing to put it out, stomping furiously or searching for water. Anders knew the Commander would be able to push through his elemental storm; she had built up a strong resistance to magic; but he hoped and prayed the others would stay well-back, while driving their enemies back into the vortex. Oghren and Sigrun worked together to take down the General while the Commander went up the back and tried to sneak up on the Witch. She brought a blade to her delicate throat.

"Give me one good reason not to kill you now."

"I'm your only way out of the Fade!" The Witch cried, finally beginning to panic. Her blade was enchanted, just like Nathaniel's arrows--but not with fire. Hers was covered in runes that dispelled magic. Even a great sorceress, such as this noble-woman, would be no match, at such close quarters, for their Commander's blade.

The Commander looked up, and shot a winning smile at Anders, who was quickly proceeding down the mountain, with Nathaniel trailing after him, uncertainly. Anders had given him no warning, beforehand, that he was going to rush forward and scramble through the carnage to the Commander's side, but quickly realised, to his horror, that was precisely what Anders had in mind. Something had gone off in his head, something had clicked.

"Actually, I have another way out. It's one of the advantages of having friends. Maybe you should get some; they might stay behind long enough to defend you in a crisis." All of her 'servants' who had not fallen in combat had deserted her. She was alone, now, and rendered defenseless, entirely at the Commanders mercy.

"Please..." she begged. "Please let me go. I will give you anything, anything you wish!"

"Offer me lands. Offer me money. Offer me diamonds, silks, and fur. Offer me an army of darkspawn, and an entire village of slaves," the Warden-Commander demanded, easing closer, bringing the sorceress' chin up with the tip of her blade. The Witch nodded, eagerly. The runes of the blade were glowing now, shimmering, stealing her magic, her energy, draining her of mana.

"It is yours! Anything! Only say the word, and release me!" She cried, nearly hysterical now.

"It's not enough," the Warden-Commander said. "Just look around you! Look what you've done. You can't give them back the lives you stole."

"No!" Anders cried when he reached the top of the balcony, but he was already too late. The Commander had already slit her throat. She stumbled back, a little startled by his interruption, as he raced forward, grabbing her by the shoulder and dragging her back, away from the Witch's corpse.

"What's wrong, Anders? We do have another way out, don't we?" The Warden-Commander asked, more concerned by the look on Anders' face then the black blood which drenched her sword.

"She's not a mage, or... she isn't anymore! She's a demon."

The Warden-Commander looked back at her corpse, suspiciously. "Well, she doesn't _look_ like an abomination," she observed, not entirely convinced. She had seen plenty of abominations in her time, even killed a few when the Circle of Magi was overrun by an infestation of them, but none of them looked that good in a dress. She appeared to be an incredibly powerful mage, but otherwise, quite ordinary.

"In the Fade... nothing is what it appears," Anders reminded her, hand still resting securely on her shoulder as the corpse began, slowly, to move. From the corpse, a demon spread out, collapsing all light in its path, with six eyes and a wide-gaping mouth. "See? A Pride Demon. I should have guessed." The Warden-Commander's mouth dropped. She had fought a few demons in her time, too -- but none as big as this. Anders cast a wall of ice and dragged a shell-shocked Commander away from the spawning demon and back to the center of the courtyard, where the rest of the Wardens were waiting. 

"Where are we going?" The Warden-Commander cried as the shock wore off, and started resisting Anders, as he help on for dear life and dragged her, running, out the Courtyard and through the Village gates. Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Oghren immediately started running. A ghostly knight in full armour, after a moment's delay, also followed. "I could have already killed her by now!" She cried in protest, although the demon she called 'her' had already torn off and multiplied into hundreds of shades, and was growing more powerful by the moment, drawing all the strength it could from the Fade.

"We're running away. We can't defeat her here. This is where she's strongest. The only way we get out of this alive... is if we outrun her... or fight her outside of the Fade," Anders explained, as best he could, as he stopped for a moment to catch his breath before running some more, towards the place Sigrun had indicated on the map was where Velanna had told them to go when they were ready to leave. She was holding a portal open especially for them. Anders just hoped she could close a portal more quickly then the demons pursuing them could run. Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Oghren caught up as a green tear in the fabric of the sky opened up, and Anders, still holding onto the Warden's arm, leapt through, pulling her with him, and rolling onto the hard, thankless ground of the Marsh. When he opened his eyes to see Velanna's feet in front of him he nearly cried for joy. Then he remembered the others, and how close a call it had been, and scrambled to his feet, waiting for the others to join them. The Warden-Commander was thankfully still in one piece, although she looked very put out; she had wanted very badly to kill that particular demon. Anders was the first to speak.

"Thank you, Velanna, for introducing me to a new experience."

Her lips twitched. "What, entering the Fade?"

"Being happy to see you."

Sigrun leapt through the portal next, followed by Oghren, the unknown knight, and finally Nathaniel. As soon as they were all through, Anders ordered Velanna to close the portal, which she promptly did, and then brushed off her hands. Not bad work for an apprentice.

"Don't celebrate just yet. It's only a matter of time before that demon finds or... opens... another portal. I hope you're all ready for round two," Anders cautioned. His eyes naturally flitted back to Sigrun, who looked unusually troubled. The Fade must have been a particularly daunting experience for her. He hoped she never had cause to go back there again. Nathaniel lightly touched his shoulder and he started, surprised.

"How did you know she was a demon?" He asked.

"I'm a mage, remember? We're trained to spot demons. You get good at it, with enough practice." Nathaniel still looked confused, but Anders was not about to explain the process of 'Harrowing' young mages to a lot of outsiders who knew nothing about Circle Rituals. There were not enough hours in the day from him to list all the reasons the Circle was unjust, and he was already exhausted, and starting to keenly feel how much mana he'd wasted creating that storm. 

"Do you need lyrium?" Velanna asked, noticing something was awry. Anders was unusually pale and trembling. "You don't look well." He bit his lower lip and shook his head. The last thing he needed was more lyrium; that place was steeped with lyrium, but it was not diluted, like the kind he was used to, the kind they bottle and sell if you knew the right people and ask the right questions. It was overpowering, and when you lost it, it left you impossibly hungry for more. He shuddered.

"How long will it take, do you think, for the demon to find us?" The Warden-Commander asked.

"Time passes differently in the Fade. Could be a few hours, could be days," Velanna explained mechanically.

"I vote we take turns keeping watch by tears in the veil," Sigrun suggested, "while the rest of us... try to recover." She gave Nathaniel a significant look, and gestured to Anders, who was already in healer-mode, checking the Commander to see how much of the blood she was covered in was actually hers, and how much belonged to some poor unsuspecting darkspawn who had fallen on her blade. Before he could move on to his next patient, Oghren, Nathaniel walked over and tapped his shoulder again.

"Don't you think you should get some rest?"

"What? No! I'm fine! I slept for three whole hours only two days ago!" Anders insisted, giving Oghren's wounds a quick examination.

"Get some sleep! That's an order!" The Warden-Commander barked, from the log where she was sitting, still fiddling with the bandages Anders had hurried wrapped around her arm so they did not impair movement. She still had not forgiven him for saving her life.

After finishing Oghren's examination, Anders turned to his next patient -- the as-yet unknown knight who followed them through the portal, covered head-to-toe in rather menacing armour.

"Who's he?" Anders asked, not caring that 'he' was stood right in front of him, and quite capable of answering.

"It's a long story," the Warden-Commander began with a heavy sigh. "I'll explain everything when we get back to the Keep."

"I'm Justice," the knight in dark-plated armour declared, extending his hand.

"And I'm exhausted," Anders replied, absentmindedly shaking it. "Let's go home. I miss my bed," he groaned.

Sigrun took him in hand and led him to his tent, where he immediately dropped off like a light the moment his head hit something vaguely resembling a pillow. The rest of the Wardens stood watch through the night and early hours of morning, taking turns sleeping and standing guard in pairs. When it was time for Anders to keep watch, the Commander took particular delight in waking him up with a pail of murky marsh water that conveniently 'slipped' from her hand. That Demon was _hers,_ and they could all be happily celebrating in the Keep with a grand feast by now if Anders had only let her kill them when she had the chance.


	9. A Day in the Life

"I received a letter from Delilah. She invited me to visit her new home. She wants to meet Eron. I was wondering if you would like to come with me," Nathaniel announced as he entered the room. It was still early, and Anders was only half-awake. Nathaniel had been out hunting, and was still wearing armour and carrying his grandfather's bow and a sling full of arrows. He dropped both, and walked towards the bed, where Anders sat up with great reluctance, still blinking sleep from his heavy, deep-set eyes. Nathaniel had been relegated one of the larger bedrooms in the Keep; it featured tall windows and a wide bed, and was full of heavy wooden furniture, a few oil paintings, and sunshine. Anders room, by comparison, was small, and a mess, full of all sorts of plants and books and scrolls, with only one window and mismatched blankets and curtains in clashing patterns. He was always practicing herbalism and concocting potions, so had various jars and vials of every stripe scattered across his bookshelves and writing desk. One of the many family portraits, the only oil painting which could fit in his cramped quarters, had been turned around so it faced the wall, because Anders was convinced it was haunted by the dead model whose cold, lifeless eyes seemed to follow him around the room. He preferred staying in Nathaniel's room, even if the large windows without curtains made it harder to sleep in.

"Come with you? To meet Delilah?" Anders repeated, surprised. 

"She's the only family I have left,” Nathaniel continued.

"You want me to meet your family?" He clarified, eyes narrowed.

"Stop repeating everything I say!" Nathaniel snapped.

"Sorry, I’m just... surprised. Are you sure?"

Nathaniel sat down on the bed beside him and shook his head, marvelling at his modest... until it dawned on him that it was not modesty at all, but insecurity; anxiety; dread.

"Anders... Nothing that's happened to me over the last six months has seemed real at all. You're the only thing I am sure about."

"That sounds serious! You must be sickening for something," he observed with a wide yawn. His hair was a mess, and fell about his shoulders in wild disarray. He combed his hand through it, and felt blindly for the tie to pull it back, but was unable to find it.

"Only you."

Nate leaned in to kiss him, and was surprised when Anders pulled away. Anders was usually the one who was so forthright, so impatient, and took the initiative.

"You mean it, don't you? You really want me in your life?" Anders asked, suddenly serious again. Nate could have his pick of practically anyone! He may not have a fortune or an estate anymore, but he was still young, handsome, kind, honest, noble... why should he want to limit himself to a doomed relationship with a wanted apostate? Where was the catch? Anders could not help but suspect there must be a catch, that even after all the time they had spent together; there had to be a catch.

“You’re the one who’s always going on about wanting… what was it? ‘A pretty girl, a hot meal, and the right to shoot lightning at fools,” Nate quoted, in his best ‘Anders’ voice.

"You _were_ listening!" Anders cooed, impressed. He stretched out his arms, appreciatively, then dragged Nate closer. "I have her fooled alright. As long as she thinks I'm busy wooing the village milkmaid, she won't know who's in the armoury getting handsy with the dashing rogue."

"We’re not schoolchildren!" Nate replied, rolling his eyes. 

"You were deprived a youth full of adolescent fumbling in sheds; I was deprived a youth full of freedom, fresh air, and pies... we both have a lot of catching up to do."

Anders wound a hand through Nate’s hair, pulling it a little too roughly. Nate let him, not caring any more. He was getting used to Ser Pounce-a-lot abusing him in much the same fashion, now that they often shared rooms, although they took turns whose room they slept in, from one week to the next. That orange tabby was finally starting to grow on him, but Nathaniel still did not like sharing a bedroom with him, and only begrudgingly went along with it when Anders refused to kick him out. It was hard enough convincing Anders to share a blanket; Ser Pounce-a-lot would find a way to take up both pillows, then force Anders and Nathaniel to curl up at the other end of the bed to avoid disturbing him. Anders would not forgive Nate for waking the sleeping cat, or chasing him off the bed and out of the room altogether. He was afraid Oghren might get hungry in the middle of the night and mistake the poor creature for a delicious meal.

"Do you think she'd care?" Nate asked. Anders was too busy undoing his armour to formulate a reply. “The Warden-Commander, I mean.”

"No, not really. But your family would. I can just imagine what they'd say! A Howe taking up with a mage... how scandalous!" He mused, dramatically, a hand poised across his forehead. Nate, eagle-eyed and always one to seize an opportunity, leaned in to kiss his exposed neck.

"I'd tell them. I will tell them. Starting with Delilah."

Anders let Nathaniel's armour fall to the floor, then bid him lift his arms with a sign as he helped pull his tunic up over his head.

“You don’t think leaving an orphan on her doorstep will be surprising enough?”

“You should consider yourself lucky you’re in such good hands! Oghren thinks we should leave _you_ on her doorstep and keep the kid.”

Anders was already distracted. He licked his lips, looking for an opportunity to avenge himself. 

“What were you saying about hands?” He hummed.

 

***

 

Velanna knocked on her door. It was after midnight, and Sigrun was dangerously close to falling asleep, but accustomed to the fact her fellow Warden kept unconventional hours, was not at all surprised to find her waiting when she opened the door. She had both hands behind her back.

“Sigrun, I have a gift for you.” 

“Oh?” 

“You like gifts, don’t you?”

“Well… yes, I think most people do.”

“If you don’t like it… I will look for something else.”

“Velanna, honey,” Sigrun began, firmly. It had been a long day and she was running low on patience. “I need to sleep.”

Velanna took her present from behind her back and presented it to Sigrun, wrapped up in red paper and held together, rather precariously, with a gold ribbon. She carefully unwound it, and extracted the contents within: it was a little snowglobe. She held it up an admired it.

“Oh! I see. What is it?”

“It’s… it’s a snowglobe,” Velanna supplied, a little crestfallen to see that Sigrun did not immediately identify the object, although she herself had been surprised when first she saw it. The Dalish had nothing like it, but she knew Sigrun liked collecting human oddities.

“What does it do?” Sigrun asked.

Velanna reached forward, tentatively, then stopped, her hand held mid-air.

“May I?” She asked. Sigrun nodded, and Velanna covered her hand, and turned the sphere over, so it was upside down. Then she shook it, lightly, so the snow fell to the top. Then she turned it right side up, and removed her hand. The flakes of snow fluttered delicately down from the roof of the globe. Sigrun gasped, then let it out a little cry.

“It’s wonderful! I love it!” She exclaimed. “I love snow!”

Velanna smiled. Of course she loved snows. The elves hated when it snowed, because they lived outdoors, and were not very good at coping with hard winters. They depended too much on earth, and plants, and trees, to feed and clothe and protect them. Sigrun, however, loved the snow, and rain, and revelled in both with such child-like glee, because they were novelties to her, who had spent so long underground.

“I will treasure it always!”

Sigrun leaned forward and kissed Velanna on the cheek.

“Oh! I’m glad you like it!” Velanna answered, not expecting such a warm reception. Sigrun took hold of her wrist, lightly, and eased her through the door and into her room, letting the heavy wooden door fall closed behind her, a wry smile twisting her lips into a tantalizing grin. Velanna leaned down to kiss her lips, and Sigrun, standing on the tips of her toes, threw her arms around Velanna’s neck.

“Why… why are you looking at me like that?” Velanna stammered out, nervously, when she pulled back out of the kiss. Sigrun was staring intently up at her, now. She wondered if she had done something wrong. Sigrun had liked her gift, had she not? She had thanked her for it and smiled! But now her expression had completely changed, and despite all her best efforts, Velanna found she could not read her. Sigrun was usually so open, so earnest, that she did not have to try; her heart was always there on her sleeve, for anyone to read, if they only looked. Sigrun stretched out her hand and laced her fingers with Velanna’s. 

“It looks like I’ve caught a star, after all.”

“I haven't exactly fallen from the sky!”

“You’re from the surface. Same thing. Stay, won’t you?”

Velanna nodded, but before she could say ‘yes’ Sigrun raced off to a side table. She picked up something, dusted it off, and returned. Then she offered it to Velanna, hand still closed around it.

“I was not expecting a gift, but I… had something set aside I’m been meaning to give you, I was just… waiting for the right time. I guess now’s as good a time as any, right?”

Sigrun was just as afraid of the Architect as the others, only she pretended not to be nervous to keep up morale. She did not want the others to be afraid, but… for the first time, she was. She had not feared death when the Warden-Commander found her, scrapping with darkspawn in the Deep Roads and mourning her lost comrades. She would have died laughing, with a smile on her face, as long as she died fighting, because the Legion, and her cause—the pursuit of glory—had meant everything to her. Now that she had finally found something real to fight for, now that she had finally found someone to fight for... she was afraid of losing it so soon. She had to stay alive, even if only to protect Velanna—although she would never dare tell Velanna she wanted to protect her—she knew Velanna would take it as an insult, because Velanna was too proud and strong to need protection, so she kept her motives to herself. She did not want to insult Velanna’s pride—she just wanted to know she was safe. This ring seemed like the best way to make sure Velanna was safe, to show how she felt and what she wanted, without words—Sigrun was not always good at words. She had not read books, like Velanna, and while she never shied away from speaking her mind, she did not know how to make fine speeches or declarations, but she thought perhaps a gesture… perhaps that would mean something to Velanna. The Dalish liked rituals and gestures, after all, didn’t they? 

Sigrun opened her hand to reveal the ring and Velanna gasped, raising one delicate hand to her mouth.

“It’s a ring,” Sigrun supplied.

“I know what it is, you little fool!” Velanna snapped. 

“You’re angry?”

“Where did you find a Dalish ring?!”

“In Amaranthine. Oh, not in the market place, no… while you were all busy I slipped away, talked to some city elves, saw this, and thought of you. Look, it’s green! Your favourite colour! It’s even got a little emerald, and… some inscription. I’m not sure what that says, I don’t speak Elvish...”

“Elvhen. It says… our love will never die.”

“Oh! Oh. That’s nice. I don’t know if I’d… but that’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Sigrun, it’s a promise ring.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I just thought…”

“Do you want to marry me, Sigrun?”

“Not today! Not… now, when we have a world to save, I just thought maybe… when this is all over… if you have nothing better to do…” 

“Oh, _Sigrun.”_ Velanna sighed, then embraced her. “You’re mad!”

“Does that mean… you’ll wear it?” Sigrun asked when Velanna pulled back, a wisp of blonde hair falling across her eye.

“Yes!” She answered, nodding enthusiastically, a smile spreading across her face. Her smiles were all the more beautiful because they were so rare. Sigrun considered each one a gift.

 

***

 

“Hello Delilah, it’s good to see you again!” Nathaniel said the moment she answered the door, a genuine smile on his lips. He knew he must have looked strange to her, standing in full Warden regalia, with a small boy and a mage beside him. He had convinced Anders to dress in his Warden uniform and leave his staff behind, so they could travel more discreetly. It was less obvious than his Tevinter robes, at least—but Anders refused to do away with robes altogether. It was what he was used to. Eron was wearing new clothes they had bought for him in town—Sigrun was the one who insisted they stood a better chance of finding him a new home if he was not covered in the same muddy, threadbare farm-clothes they found him in. 

“Nathaniel!” She exclaimed, delighted, before quickly rushing forward to embrace him. He let her, although felt a little embarrassed. Anders smiled smugly at them, revelling in the way public displays of affection always made Nathaniel flustered, even when they came from his long-lost sister. Nathaniel was still not used to this. It felt strange having a sister again, after so long. It felt… new. As she pulled away, she turned her attention to the young boy, and greeted him next. 

“Is this the young lad you spoke of? Hello Master Eron! Come in, we have prepared some food especially… I found some fresh berries this morning, and prepared a fine little supper for us all to share.” She pointed to a table lined with bowls and tankards of different shapes and sizes, brimming over with food and drink. His eyes widened; he never ate like that at home, and he certainly did not eat like that when travelling with the Wardens, who tried to keep the boy alive on what little rations they had to spare, when divided up equally between them. Eron mumbled a ‘thank you’ under his breath, and raced past Delilah and into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of food and shoving it directly into his mouth like a starving animal. The way he acted, you would have thought the Wardens never fed him. She merely smiled, bemused, and shook her head. She knew children. She would be having her own, soon. Finally, she turned to face Anders for the first time, and looked him over, recognizing the armour, but struggling to place the face. He looked familiar, but they had never formally been introduced.

“And who are you?” She asked with a warm smile.

“This is Anders,” Nathaniel said, taking it upon himself to handle the introductions. He had already given Anders a lecture on the way there detailing—as gently as he could—all the reasons why this meeting would go far better if Anders behaved himself, kept his mouth shut, and let Nathaniel do all of the talking.

“Anders… what?” She looked a little confused. 

“Just Anders,” he answered brightly, smiling. 

“He’s a Grey Warden, too,” Nathaniel explained, as if the uniform was not explanation enough. Her eyes suddenly widened with a look of recognition. Nathaniel had described, in brief, his fellow Wardens in letters. She had also seen him, briefly, when she first ran into Nathaniel in the marketplace, only then… he was carrying a staff and dressed up in robes, and she was never given a name.

“Oh! The Mage!”

Nathaniel nodded, cleared his throat, and took Anders' hand in his. Anders beamed. He was smiling so hard it hurt; but he wanted to make a good impression. He knew this was important to Nathaniel.

“We’re very close,” Nathaniel explained. 

“I see. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Anders!”

She offered her hand. Anders reached out to shake hers with his right hand, which was still free. Then she ushered them in, and insisted they have something to eat after their long journey. It was not very long—but Anders saw no reason to refuse her offer, and followed the young lad’s example. The Circle, apparently, did not waste any time teaching its mages table manners and basic etiquette. Delilah seemed to take a shine to the boy as the chatted over their lunch, which pleased Nathaniel. Anders just seemed happy to have a hot meal, pleasant weather, a warm house, and a twenty-four hour vacation from fighting darkspawn. He was as happy as could be, especially once he learned they had, in addition to a few chickens and livestock, a farm cat on their property. The house itself was very small and simple; it looked like a stiff breeze could knock it over; but the surrounding trees were lovely, and it was close to the city without being inside it, so you had the best of both worlds—nature and society, when you wanted it.

“Do you think you’ll be able to find the boy a home?” Nathaniel asked, when the boy had finished eating and wandered outside to climb a tree. Delilah kept an eye on him, through the window, and the door was kept open, so they could hear him if he got in trouble or called.

“I will see what I can do. No reason why he should not stay here, for now. I can keep him out of the fighting, anyway,” Delilah answered, nodding faintly.

“I will see that our family estate is restored—and I want you to live there. You have as much right to inherit it as I do, if not more.” 

“Father disowned me,” she reminded him.

“He did not think too highly of me, either,” he retorted with a meek smile.

She nodded sympathetically, then stood up to clean the dishes, but Anders took the initiative, and started cleaning up at once, to Nathaniel’s surprise. He really did know how to make a good impression, Grey Warden appetite aside. He collected as many dishes in one go as he could manage and disappeared into the kitchen. When they were alone, Nathaniel took the opportunity to pull Delilah aside.

“There is something I should warn you about. The boy… may have magic.”

“You think he’s a mage?” Delilah asked, lowering her voice, as if afraid someone might hear—although there was hardly anyone within earshot they had to fear. Everyone was outside the house besides Anders, who was in the kitchen, cleaning dishes.

“We have no idea, and he’s still very young… it’s too soon to say. There was magic in his family, however, and Anders was concerned that… some families might take the news poorly.”

“You mean… they might hurt him?”

“Or send him away.”

“You want me to defy the Chantry?” Delilah asked, a little shocked. She was not sure what she expected after receiving Nathaniel’s rushed, emphatic letter, but it was not… this. She knew her family’s reputation better than Nathaniel, but despite their somewhat unconventional upbringing, and her abrupt departure from her family home… she had always managed to stay on the good side of the Chantry. She considered herself a good, law-abiding Andrastian, even if she had stopped attending the Chantry when her family fell into ill-repute, to avoid the dark looks the townspeople who recognized her gave her, and their rude, churlish manners.

“I don’t want to put you in danger! I just thought you should know what you would be getting yourself into if you agreed to help us. It is your choice in the end, and I thought… you should know what’s at stake.”

“Nathaniel… I know nothing about magic, except what our Father and the Chantry taught us, but… I also know Father was wrong about a great many things. I know mages helped end the Blight and save Ferelden; I know there are mages within the Wardens, protecting us; and I know King Alistair said we must treat mages with respect for the sacrifices they made during the battle with the Archdemon. I don’t even mind that you’re dating a mage! In a way, I’m relieved. I’ve never seen you look so happy before. But this… I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know how to raise a mage!”

“Neither does the Chantry,” Anders replied, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a plate and rag still in hand. Delilah nearly jumped. Nathaniel bit his lower lip, blaming himself for not noticing sooner that Anders was listening. He had wanted to have this discussion alone. He knew it would upset him. “All that kid needs is a family who will love him. The rest… shouldn’t matter.”

The Chantry warned against letting mages grow up outside of the Circle, because it believed they would be ‘seduced’ by demons and blood magic and an insatiable lust for power. Anders had a feeling that an ordinary, run-of-the-mill mage, who had never set foot inside the Circle or a Chantry, and been raised by a sympathetic and loving family who shielded them from Templars and let them cultivate their magic in a safe environment, like on a farmstead where there was plenty of open lands and woods for them to practice in, would have no cause to turn to demons and blood magic. 

“If he does have magic, well… I could help,” he added when Delilah looked unconvinced.

“Anders, don’t…” Nathaniel started, but Anders cut him off.

“I grew up in the Circle. I was trained there, along with hundreds of other apprentices, kept together like dogs in a kennel. I passed my Harrowing. I know what training entails, I could teach him how to control his magic.” ‘So he doesn’t lose his temper and set fire to a barn, like I did,’ was politely omitted, because he did not want to give Nathaniel a heart attack, and because he knew how to phrase a persuasive argument. Delilah seemed like a kind and intelligent woman. She seemed to be everything Nathaniel said she was. He had no intention of scaring her away, not when she could be just what this boy needed. “Please. He’s already lost his family. What he needs is a home, not a cage.”

“He can stay here for as long as he needs,” Delilah said, emphatically. She reached across the table and covered Nathaniel’s hand with her own. The sun was shining in through the wide window, and filled the room with warm light now that the clouds had moved past. “If I cannot find him a suitable home, I will raise him as if he were my own.” 

“You’re an angel!” Nathaniel exclaimed.

“Before we go, let me give you a recipe for a poultice. It will ease the pain,” Anders said, fumbling through his pockets for a scroll. He tore off a small corner than scribbled out the ingredients, and passed her the paper. “Just mix these together, and drink it if you feel any pain. It won’t harm the baby at all, it’s as natural as chewing elfroot, and may help ease the pregnancy,” he assured her. She quickly read over the ingredients, then looked to Nathaniel, seemingly for confirmation.

“He’s a spirit healer, the best we have. I’d listen to him if I were you.”

“A healer? No wonder my brother likes having you around. He was always getting himself hurt as a boy, always getting into trouble. Have you delivered babies before?”

“I’ve delivered a few. This poultice helped, trust me. I’d also recommended eating diced deep mushroom if you run out of elfroot. It helps replenish energy, and it is easy to find, even if you can’t make it all the way to the market.”

“You have both been very kind. Please, stay as long as you like—my husband will be coming home soon, and will want to meet you!”

“How does he feel about magic?”

“If anyone can convince him, it’s you two. Just… maybe keep your suspicions about the boy to yourself, for now. That might take some getting used to. I’m sure once he meets the boy, and comes to love him, as I already know he will… he’ll be more open-minded.”

“I hope you’re right. If not… just send for us, and we’ll find him a new home. I won’t see him taken away by Templars,” Nathaniel said with conviction. “He deserves to be free. I know what father taught us about magic is wrong, I’ve seen it first-hand. Magic can save lives. The Templars can’t see that, they can't see mages are just people, like you and me, no better or worse, just as capable of good or evil.” 

Anders was beaming proudly now, and it made Nathaniel happy just to see him happy. There was a loud crash outside and the three raced outside. The boy was fine—but a large branch had broken off the tree and fallen to the ground. The boy had scrambled to the next one up just in time, but was now stuck, with no way to get down. As Anders was the tallest of them, he easily reached up and caught the boy in his arm, picked him free from the tree, and set him on the solid ground. The boy then raced to cling to Delilah’s skirt, and hugged her, when Nathaniel informed him he would be staying.

“What about the Wardens? Oghren said he was going to teach me how to be a warrior!” He had brought the wooden sword Oghren gave him, and kept it sheathed at his side, so he could pretend he was a soldier.

“Maybe one day, Eron, when you’re a little older,” Delilah insisted, patting his head.

Anders found the farm cat, and picked it up in its arms. It was a fluffy old cat, white with large black patches, or black with large white patches, and wide green eyes.

“Hello, little one!” He crooned, although this cat was not particularly little, before scratching behind its ear and under its chin. It purred contentedly. Anders walked over to Nathaniel, still cradling the cat in his arm like a baby.

“No, we can’t keep it.” Nathaniel said the minute Anders opened his mouth.

“I know that! Ser Pounce-a-lot would get jealous. But that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh? Go on.”

“I wanted to thank you for standing up for mages. You didn’t have to.”

“I knew if I didn’t you’d put a hex on me.” Hexes were more in Velanna's line, but he presumed Anders had one or two up his sleeve he was saving for a rainy day.

“I mean it! You didn’t have to say all that about protecting mages, but… it was awfully sweet of you.” He kissed Nathaniel’s nose. The cat gave a distressed mew and scratched Anders' arm. “Thanks, love.”

“I will always stand between you and the Templars. You know that, right?”

“I’m not exactly helpless, Nate; I can look after myself. But I appreciate the offer.”

They spent the next few hours at Delilah’s house, meeting all the animals and her husband, when he returned from work, before the Sun began to drift dangerously close to the horizon, and not wanting to head back in perfect darkness, or overstay their welcome, they took leave of her, Nathaniel insisting "it was time we returned to our family.” Anders liked this; he liked being part of a family. It was new to him. He had been so young when he was separated from his family, but it was still a concept which appealed to him. He had always envied the happy families he sometimes spied through opened windows, gathered around a warm hearth, or trading stories. He had never imagined he would know what that was like, himself, never imagined one day someone would open their door and invite him in, the way Delilah did, but… it was something he could see himself getting used to very easily. For a few hours, he had managed to forget all about the Circle, and the Blight, and fighting darkspawn, and magic, and re-enter the human race. It felt nice; but he knew he was just a tourist. Those villagers Delilah lived among may have been friendly enough in passing, when they thought he was just another ordinary human, but the minute they knew he was a mage, he had a feeling those smiles would vanish, and any friendly greeting would die on their lips.


	10. Nathaniel & The Architect

It was almost over. All that fighting, hunting, waiting, running, searching, and... it was almost over. Everything was in flames. Anders saw, through the haze, the Wardens who had accompanied him this far. They were all wearing their uniforms. It still felt strange to wear a uniform. At first he put up a fight, preferring to stand out, but he eventually relented. Sometimes it was reassuring to know he finally belonged somewhere. People treated him differently when he wore his Grey Warden uniform. It was a clear and recognisable symbol which made people treat him with respect. What for? Keeping the darkspawn at bay? Drinking their blood so he could never get a decent night's rest again? They did not even know about the blood. That might make them hesitate to show their support.

The Architect's lair had been compromised. The Grey Wardens—such as they are—were ready and waiting to strike. Auxiliary forces circled the lowest level of the Architect's fortress, catching and killing any darkspawn that tried to break through. They refused to go any higher up, however. They were leaving the Architect for them.

"Any last words?" Anders had asked as they strolled up the seemingly never-ending cascade of stairs. Anders should have been used to endless staircases by now. The Circle was full of them.

"I wish I hadn't ate breakfast," Sigrun said, troubled by the sight of bodies twisted and deformed by red lyrium, screaming as they turned to stone and became part and parcel with the walls, the floor, the fixtures. Velanna grimaced and shook her head.

"I wish I had. I'm so hungry I could eat a bronto raw," Oghren replied lightly, unaffected. He was drunk so often it must have permanently dulled his senses. Neither the sight nor smell of all those darkspawn corpses perturbed him.

"What about you, tall, dark, and eerily silent?" Anders asked, swinging his head around to look at Nathaniel, who had been abnormally taciturn, even for him.

"I was just thinking..."

"About what?" Anders asked, leaning closer. Their was a note of genuine concern in his voice—but it was a faint note which could barely be heard above the noise of fighting in the distance.

"About us." Nathaniel answered, looking him square in the eye. Anders raised a brow, intrigued.

"I won't say I'm not flattered, Howe, but… I'm saving myself for the Commander, just in case she ever gets tired of that Crow of hers." He shot her a lovelorn gaze, and clasped his hands together for dramatic effect. The Commander smiled and rolled her eyes, but kept walking. Then Nate said something which made her stop.

"About the Wardens. Our whole purpose is... stopping Blights, no?"

"Yes, that is our raison d'être, more or less,” she replied, not sure where this was going.

"The Architect said... he wanted to stop not only this Blight, but all future Blights. All his experimenting... was done in order to find a way to stop them for good. Some people died, yes... but what if the ends justify the means? Many Grey Warden recruits die during their Joining, but their lives are worth losing for the chance that the recruits who do survive may save thousands more. What if we came to some kind of... arrangement with him?"

"I don't like where this is going. Nate, his army of darkspawn is trying to kill us!" Anders reminded him.

"Because we attacked him first! He only attacked us after we tried to kill him and his... associates. He's defending himself, and all he worked for."

"Nate, he's a darkspawn!" Anders threw back, abruptly. He could not understand Howe's compulsion to sympathise with every criminal they met, as if they were all cut from the same cloth. The Architect was not just an ‘underdog’ or ‘misunderstood,’ he was a darkspawn monstrosity who learned to speak which raised an entire undead army and was actively trying to kill them! How could he compare the Architect’s crimes with those of the Grey Wardens? They were trying to save innocent lives! They were trying to save all of Thedas!

"Is he?" Velanna interjected. Everyone went quiet and looked to her, expectantly. She blinked a few times, looking owlish, before realising their silence meant they wanted her to continue speaking. "That broodmother, she said he created this, all of this. He brought darkspawn to the surface and gave them the capacity to speak, to reason. He made his own creations come to life. What if he's not a darkspawn, but something much more powerful.”

"Then we're fucked," Sigrun replied, shaking her head.

"He wants to talk. All I'm suggesting is... we try talking," Nathaniel said.

"Who wants to go first? Hello, I'm a Grey Warden, and you're a darkspawn! Please stop talking and marching around like you own the place and go back to the Deep Roads where you belong, or I'll have to use my really big sword!" Anders mimicked, using the same voice he always used when doing impressions, regardless of who the impression was of. Nathaniel shot him a long look. Anders' grin quickly dissolved. "Maker, you're serious. What's gotten into you?! We stand a better chance if we attack him suddenly, and quickly, with his back turned, before he can call in his henchmen or... build them… or whatever he does. You can't reason with darkspawn! Any fool knows that.”

"He does magic. Necromancy."

"What's your point?"

"How different is that from your entropy spells?"

"Where is this going, Nate?" Anders’ tone was noticeably growing more serious, more concerned. Nate kept going, undeterred. If he did not speak now he knew there might not be another chance. This was not just their future on the line—this was the future of Thedas.

"I thought… before I met you and Velanna… that magic was dangerous, that it could only ever be used for destruction. Now I've learned it can heal, it can restore, it can protect... and it can help us rebuild. If he used his power to aid us... there are so many people we could help! So many lives we could save!"

"I could have my sister back," Velanna echoed softly, under her breath. It was only when the others looked at her she realised she had said those words out loud. "I agree with Nathaniel. We should talk to him. Maybe this is all just... a misunderstanding."

"Like yours?" Anders shot back.

"Anders!" Nathaniel snapped. Anders winced, his tone enough to wound him, his nerves were so fraught. "Velanna joined the Grey Wardens to atone for her crimes. Let her."

"I joined to find my sister or... if I was too late, to get revenge," Velanna confessed, always one to speak her mind. The diplomatic thing to do would have been to hold her tongue, but Velanna never went in for diplomacy. It was one of the few things about her Anders actively admired. He often wished he was brave enough to be that honest. "I want to ask for his help."

The Commander had remained silent throughout this discussion, clearly weighing both sides of the argument.

"All we really know about this ‘Architect’ is that he's dangerous and cunning. We can try to talk to him, but we must be prepared to fight. I don't like the idea of making deals with darkspawn."

“You’ve all gone mad! Tell them, Sigrun, back me up, Oghren!” He looked to his friends for help. They were both startled into silence. Justice was the one who stepped up.

“I refuse to work with demons or darkspawn.”

“I respect that, Justice. I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t agree with, but… I am not a dictator. If Nathaniel and Velanna believe we can gain something by speaking to him…”

“This is obviously a trap! He wants your blood so he can make his army stronger. It will not cure them. There is no cure for what ails them.”

“I used to believe there was no cure for death,” Sigrun quipped quietly, hoping to break the tension. Justice heard her, and lost his temper.

“I’m not a ghost! I’m a spirit.”

“Sorry, Justice! My bad.” It was an honest mistake. She still did not grasp the subtle difference between spirits which have always been in the Fade, an integral part of it, and the ghosts of the dead, who could only walk the Fade—until a tear let them slip out into the land of the living, but such visits were rare.

The Commander shook her head and kept walking. They ran straight into one of the Architect’s assistants. To their surprise, this assistant did not attack them, but jolted back, a little surprised, then kept running. They continued up the flight of stairs, and found the Architect waiting for them.

“Have you considered my offer?” He asked, when the Commander strutted forward, hands held up in the universal sign for ‘I am not immediately going to stab you in the eye.’

“Some of my friends think I should reconsider your offer. Some of my friends think I should kill you. Tell me… why should I spare you?”

“I cannot end the Blights without you, and you cannot end the Blights without me.”

“Promises, promises!” She purred in a sing-song way. “I want proof.”

“You have seen my power. You have seen my creations. I can control the darkspawn—but I cannot free them without your blood.”

“How much blood are we talking here?”

“As much as you can spare. I won’t ask for your lives.”

“How magnanimous of you!” Anders exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“One of my friends believes… you want to use our blood to make darkspawn more powerful.”

“Darkspawn and mortals do not have to be enemies. If they gained control, if they gained sentience, if they had a purpose, a direction… we could live together peacefully.”

Oghren laughed. “I’d like to see that!”

“You… you are a demon!” Justice snapped. “Spare us your defences.”

The Commander, sensing the changing tone this ‘conversation’ was taking, drew her sword.

Velanna suddenly leapt forward. “What about Seranni!”

“I left her in the Wending Woods; she is fading fast, but your blood could bring her back,” the Architect insisted, stepping forward. Sigrun leapt between Velanna and him, swords drawn.

“Get away from her! Velanna, it’s a trap! He would bleed you dry. He doesn’t care about us. He won’t help your sister; all he can do for her now is make her an unthinking automaton, like the one's we fought in the mine!”

Oghren raced forward, axe raised, and was the first to strike the Architect, but he was ready. He easily created a barrier around him which deflecting the incoming attack, and threw Oghren back against the far wall of the tower. He scurried to his feet, but winded, took a few moments to recover before trying to strike again. Sigrun and the Commander went to attack him, in unison. When Velanna saw that he was going to hurt them, she quickly unleashed a spell to petrify him. It was a weak spell, and the Architect was too strong to be held in its power for long, but for the next few moments, he was paralyzed and vulnerable. It was the perfect moment to strike.

Nathaniel remained frozen to the spot, as if he, too, had fallen prey to the same spell. Anders focused his energy, and started murmuring under his breath the words to his tempest spell—but then Nathaniel raced forward and Anders’ incantation came to an abrupt halt. His eyes flew open. Nathaniel had placed himself between the Architect and the Warden-Commander, with his bow raised, and the head of his arrow poised at her heart.

“Please stand back. I hate to do this, but… he’s our only hope.”

“He’s a monster! A madman!” The Warden-Commander relented. "You know this, you must!"

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nathaniel insisted. “But we have to give him a chance. I’ve seen what one Blight could do to this land. I know Thedas could not survive a second.”

“Nate! What are you doing!” Anders cried, his heart racing. He could not believe this was happening. Nothing had prepared him for this.

“I can’t lower my sword. He will destroy us all; he will stop at nothing to achieve his goal,” the Commander explained, holding her ground.

“So would the Grey Wardens. You taught me that.” He drew back his arrow, ready to fire. Velanna sent a stone fist spell flying towards him, and knocked him over. The Commander was once again free to strike, but just then the cracks in the rock broke open, and the Architect, freed, lurched forward, unleashing a wave of flames that made the floor beneath them shudder. Anders and Velanna both raced forward to knock the Commander safely out of harms way as the flames surged past. Sigrun and Oghren, in unison, launched an attack on the Architect. Nathaniel let a few arrows fly in the direction of the Commander, but he was no longer aiming at her heart, or neck, or vitals. He only wanted to impair her, to slow her down, so the Architect could make his escape. It would be easier that way. Maybe his blood would be enough. He hoped it would be enough. He did not want to hurt any of them. He raised his arrow, and this time it was not the Commander who stopped him, but Anders. He cast a spell which encased him in frost, so he could not fire a single shot. Justice, forced back from the Architect when he released another wave of flames, leapt forward, seeing an opportunity to strike down Nathaniel, and Anders, panicking, quickly cast another spell, paralyzing him.

Sigrun, Velanna, Oghren, and the Commander were now busy, all concentrating their forces on the Architect. Sigrun ran around, distracting him, darting out of the way just in time before each attack landed, dexterous as ever, while Oghren and Velanna consistently unleashed a volley of attacks against him. He was finally starting to weaken, but it would still take too long for him to fall at this rate, and time was quickly running out. Anders saw what he had to do, and silently hoped and prayed he had enough mana left to manage it. His timing would have to be perfect. He could only see one way to save his friends now. _'Why, Nathaniel?'_ he thought to himself. _'You bloody fool! Why turn your backs on us now, after all we've been through?'_


	11. The Awakened

There was a loud explosion as the final fireball struck down the Architect and left behind an inferno of crackling flames. Nathaniel fell back and covered his head, freed from the spell just in time. Anders raced forward, grabbed him by the shoulder, and placed a hand over his heart. 

"Are you okay?" He asked. "Are you hurt?" The flames were still roaring loudly all around them. They had taken on a life of their own. Anders ignored them. Nathaniel could not feel his left leg. It was badly singed. He struggled to nod his head, nearly choking on the smoke which had slowly begun to fill the air. "What a mess... if you die, I'll never forgive you."

Anders eased Nathaniel’s arm over his shoulder with his right hand, then placed his left on Nathaniel's waist, lifted him up, and led him away from the fire and chaos and flying debris. They kept walking—slowly, because of Nate's injured leg, but defiantly—until they reached a narrow stream. There were some uneven hills and boulders circling the bank, he found one where he could prop up Nate beside the stream. He took from his pack some bandages and towels, and started by washing his wounds with fresh water, then began wrapping them up. He did not have enough mana left to heal him, now.

"Can you speak?" Anders asked, after giving him some water.

Nathaniel nodded.

"I think so."

"Well, don't you dare scare me like that again!"

“Is he dead?” There was no need to ask who 'he' was.

Anders nodded. Everything was on fire; he had filled the very skies with flames. He had turned the tower into a raging inferno. He knew the Warden-Commander would run in time, to avoid her or her charges getting caught in the crumbling ruins as they fell, but Anders wanted to bury the Architect under that rubble, and make sure he could never again torment them.

"Where are we going?"

"I haven't decided yet. I was thinking... Free Marches, to start?”

"What about the Wardens?"

"Oh, we can go back if you like! I just don't want to see them arrest you for disobeying orders and turning on a superior officer. You looked so sad when we found you in that prison cell, all alone except for a few mice... I'd hate to see you back there."

"I wanted to stop the Blights! The Commander is an understanding woman, she would... she would understand…” he muttered dejectedly. Anders brought another flask of fresh water to his lips and made him drink it before he could finish. He patted him on the back, reassuringly. Nathaniel brought the back of his hand to his lips and brushed away the drops which still clung to his face.

"Shh... we can talk about it later, once you have your strength back. If you really want to turn back and get arrested then... we can."

Nathaniel wanted to be mad at him for interrupting, but the water was cold and refreshing, and the way Anders kept softly running a hand through his hair was so soothing he felt his anger simply slip away. His eyes felt so heavy. He wanted to sleep. He had no desire to argue or fight. He wondered if this, too, was not an after effect of Anders' magic.

Anders moved away, murmuring a healing spell under his breath, and ran a hand over his wounded leg, trying to rebuild the burned skin where his own magic had singed him. He chewed his lower lip. Nothing was happening.

"Thank you," Nathaniel said sincerely. Anders' smile returned and he lightly shrugged his shoulders. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and even a simple healing spell, which merely dulled the pain it could not heal, sapped him of all remaining mana, but he pretended to feel fine so Nate would not worry.

"Oh, it's nothing! I've seen worse."

Nathaniel wanted to shake his head, but he lacked the strength.

"You saved me from the Architect _and_ the Grey Wardens. You thought I was wrong... but you stood by me."

"Did you really think I'd abandon you over that? You took a chance! You gambled and lost! It could have happened to anyone." 

It did not happen to _anyone._ If it had been anyone else... Anders would have probably left them to their own devices. He could not leave Nathaniel behind so easily. Nathaniel needed him. He had already saved his life three or four times before; he was simply balancing the scales.

"You should go back. You belong with the Wardens. You can help people—you have a gift!" Nathaniel gestured to his hands, which were still glowing with energy.

"I can help people here, too. I can start a clinic wherever we go—or else become a hedge witch, brewing remedies and love potions! You can... do whatever you do when you’re not busy brooding over lost legacies. We have options."

"You would really stay with me… after all I did?" Nathaniel had tried to make a point when he joined the Wardens. He had intended to redeem his family name and prove that not all Howe's were traitors. Yet here he was—a traitor to the Wardens, proving everyone who ever suspected him right. He hardly expected Anders to stand by him after that mess, yet Anders was the one who struck down the Architect and created a diversion so Nathaniel could escape in the first place. He had shown him more mercy than he deserved, simply by letting him go free, and giving him the opportunity to one day repay the outstanding debt he owed him, and the Commander, and all the Wardens.

"I'm hard to get rid of," Anders replied flippantly with his trademark smirk. "What did you think I meant when I said I loved you?"

"I don't know. Not this."

He winced, another wave of pain hitting him.

"Can you walk any further?"

Nate struggled to shake his head 'no.’ He was nearly drifting off to sleep now. Anders nodded.

“Okay, change of plans! I’m getting you a horse.”

“A horse! Where are you going to find a horse out here?”

“The day is still young.”

“We don’t have any money!”

“O ye of little faith!” Anders practically sang, drawing a small coin purse out of his coat and letting a few gold sovereigns tumble out into his opened hand. "I'm not as stupid as I look. When I saw things were going South, I switched purses with the Commander."

"Great. Now we're not just deserters, but thieves!" Nathaniel closed his eyes and let his head fall back with a hard thud against the rocks supporting his back.

"Oh no, I'm the thief—your conscience should be lily white, you haven't done anything wrong besides side with the wrong horse—which I understand, because I am so very magnanimous! You are lucky you found me when you did."

Nathaniel caught up his arm.

"I know," he said, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. Anders patted his forehead with a damp towel and, satisfied there was no more he could do for him, and neither his injuries nor his fever would prove fatal, got to his feet. He left Nathaniel with his supplies and a weapon, and hoped neither bandits nor bears would come along and attack a sleeping, injured man while he searched for food and transport. He found a sign indicating which direction the nearest town was, and headed towards that. He knew it would be too far to go in one day by foot, if he wanted to get back to Nathaniel before nightfall, but hoped if he followed the main roads he might meet some merchant caravan on the way. He did not, but found the next best thing—a caravan full of Ferelden refugees, heading for the Coast. 

Anders played the distressed villager card—a role he had played several times before, as a runaway mage—and was taken in by the Fereldens, moved by his story about an injured friend who had heroically fought of darkspawn to protect his family. He invented a wife, a mother-in-law, and five starving kids waiting for him in the Free Marches, to make the story sound more persuasive. One of the horses, who pulled the carriages, was taken aside—the Caravans had already stopped for the night, and the refugees set up a campfire and tents—and offered to Anders, who promised to return it. Anders was asked to leave half his purse behind to ensure its swift return, but felt that a fair trade, so was happy to comply. He went back to the place by the stream where he had left Nathaniel, and was relieved to find him still in one piece. Nathaniel was shocked to discover Anders had found a horse after all. With Anders help, he got on the horse and was led back to the Caravan full of refugees, who received them both warmly as fellow refugees and veterans, injured ‘while defending their land from Archdemons.’ Anders made a great fable out of Nathaniel’s heroic deeds to explain away his injuries, while downplaying his own part in the proceedings. The refugees seemed happy to have them, so long as they pulled their weight, once fully recovered. Nathaniel, Anders insisted, was a good hunter, and Anders was, himself, an excellent cook and herbalist. The company had, among them, a few superstitious women who saw to Nathaniel’s wounds and made sure his bandages were cleaned regularly. They balked at Anders’ claim to know anything about medicine and poultices, and superseded his requests to help, pulling rank. Thus they were kept safe but, for the first few days, apart. Anders waited until nightfall on the fifth day, when the rest of the camp was fast asleep, and the wise old women had stopped cooing over him, to pay Nathaniel a secret visit and try to heal him.

Nathaniel woke with a start and when he realized what Anders was doing—performing magic in public—he instinctively reached forward and took hold of Anders’ arm at the wrist. The light of his magic, like static electricity, died in the air at his touch.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a low hiss.

“Helping you!” Anders muttered back.

“Be careful! Someone might see you. Remember, we’re not with the Wardens anymore. That makes you an apostate.”

“Do you want to repeat that a little louder? I don’t think everyone heard you.” Anders was running out of patience. He had been dying to steal a moment alone with Nathaniel ever since they joined the caravan, and he hated being reprimanded for simply trying to help him. He was no fool. He had made sure they were alone, and no one was looking, before he started healing him. “We’ll be safe soon,” Anders promised—and it was a promise he intended to keep. “It will only take a few more days. As soon as we reach the Coast we can hire a ship, and then… we’ll be free.” 

“I don’t care where we go, as long as we’re together.”

“Kiss me.”

“Why should I?”

“Just in case," He said. _We might not have another chance,_ he thought.

Anders leant down and Nate lifted himself up onto his elbows with some difficulty, then reached forward, drew Anders closer, and kissed him.

“Now what?” He asked, reveling in the old familiar warmth of Anders’ hands, and breath, and magic. Always wanting more, always reluctant to ask for it, he was teetering at the brink of an abyss, waiting for Anders to break the silence and make the first move.

“Now… we find out why that stranger in the cloak has been watching us.”

That was not the break he wanted. Anders drew away and pulled a small carving knife from his belt.

“Who are you?” He asked. 

The woman drew back the hood of her cloak and shook her head. She was dressed simply, in tatters, like all the other refugees, but something set her apart. She was clearly a noble of some kind, trying to pass for a peasant. There was too much haughty pride in the way she held herself, and the way she moved. She was probably in her mid-to-late thirties, with dark hair and large round eyes, and was quite beautiful, apart from the hungry look. He had been watching her since they first arrived. Every now and then, when she moved, he caught a glimpse of tattoos beneath her clothes which looked like runes he had seen before in books, but these glimpses had been too brief for him to decipher their meaning.

She frowned at him for a long moment, lips pursed, then raised her hand, and took off a black glove. She conjured up some mana, and emitted a pale yellow light from the palm of her hand.

“I’m like you, don’t be afraid. I wish you and your friend no harm.”

Anders ushered her into the tent where Nathaniel had been laid out on a makeshift raised bed or stretcher, to ensure his leg laid flat. He closed the curtain door of the tent behind them, and the woman pushed back her cloak and undid the latch. She was wearing a dyed purple dress beneath her shabby cloak. It had seen better days, but it still looked more expensive than anything Anders had seen the other refugees wearing.

“How did you know I’m a mage?!”

“I can sense the magic in you. The others cannot, because their senses are dulled. They have lived too long in a place where magic is dead and silent.”

“You… are not from Ferelden, are you?” Anders asked, narrowing his eyes. He wanted to trust her. He always wanted to believe the best of mages. He had no idea who this woman was, or where she was from, or why she had disguised herself as a Ferelden refugee, when she was clearly not from Ferelden and clearly belonged to the nobility of some distant land, but... he wanted to trust her.

“I am not, no. I am from the Tevinter Imperium.”

“You’re a Magister?!” Anders exclaimed, a little too loudly.

Nathaniel started at that. He knew Anders romanticised Tevinter; he also remembered hearing stories about blood magic and demon possessions. He hated how powerless he felt, unable to stand and walk, unable to take up his weapon and defend Anders if this meeting turned sour.

“My name is Emra. You wish to leave Ferelden, yes? With your friend? I can help you.”

“Why would you help us?” Nathaniel asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I am running away from the Imperium. They will come looking for me, unless you go there, and tell them I died on the journey. Give them this amulet, and they will take you at your word. They know I would never willingly part with it while I was still alive.”

“You want us to go to Tevinter?!” Nathaniel was fully awake now.

“I thought I would ask you because you are a runaway, too." She turned to Anders, ignoring Nathaniel's protest. "I hoped you would be… more sympathetic. We could help each other. Among the Tevinter… you could easily hide from whoever pursues you, one mage surrounded by hundreds. Here… you would stand out, and risk imprisonment or… worse. You might fall victim to Templars. In Tevinter… our Templars know their place.” She walked past Anders, and looked at Nathaniel, surveying his remaining injuries. All Anders' attempts to heal his leg had failed; he could only ease the pain caused by his wound; he could not repair it.

“May I?” She asked. Anders looked to Nathaniel, who made a noncommittal noise which could have been either acceptance or refusal. She ran her hand over the wound on his leg that Anders magic was unable to close. “He is tainted,” she deduced.

“So am I,” 

“You think you can outrun Templars _and_ Wardens?” She asked, raising one brow.

“Our only other option is ‘die trying,’ or I’d be agreeing with you; our odds aren't great.”

“Go to Tevinter. Bring them my amulet. Save yourself and your friend.”

“I do so enjoy helping beautiful strangers—but what about him?” Anders gestured to Nathaniel, who could not walk. Travelling to Tevinter would not be an easy journey for him in this condition.

“Tevinter is home to some of the most powerful healers in Thedas. If they cannot heal your friend, no one can. Please say you will go! I have maps, and contacts, who can prove invaluable to you. I know words which open doors.”

“If you’re so important... why did you leave?” Nathaniel asked. He could still be cynical, he could still be wary, even if Anders could not be.

“I got in over my head. A powerful mage wants my place in the Magisterium, and he is prepared to kill anyone who stands in his way. I would rather forfeit my birthright than my life. Surely you can understand that?”

“Anders… are you sure about this? How do we know we can trust this woman?”

“You don’t,” she answered before Anders could. “All you have is my word, and all I have is yours. That seems a fair trade, does it not? Trust for trust; a life for a life. I will save yours if you save mine.”

“Looks like we’re headed to Tevinter,” Nathaniel exclaimed with an exhausted sigh. Anders moved past Emra to his side, and knelt down beside him. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, voice wavering.

“You’ll be safe there. You won’t have to hide. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

Anders nodded, unable to speak. He had always dreamed about what life would be like in the Tevinter Imperium, but he never believed he could actually go there. It was a place so often aggrandized by mages in the Circle, who could only ever speak of it in whispers, that it was hard to imagine it as a real place you could sail to, if you wanted to and had the coin, any day of the week.

“Can you leave us alone for a moment?” Nathaniel asked. Emra nodded, gave a dignified bow, and departed. “What’s wrong?” He asked once she had left and they were alone again. "I can tell something's wrong."

“I’ve been running all my life, Nate. it’s hard to imagine what life will look like once I’ve stopped running. I know this is new to you, and I know it seems irrational, but… I’m afraid. This is what I’ve always wanted—to find a home, to escape the Templars once and for all, to be free… but now it’s so close I can almost taste it and... I’m afraid. I know this isn’t what you wanted. I’m sorry I can’t give you more, love.”

Anders sat down beside Nathaniel’s makeshift bed. Nathaniel lightly touched his arm and he turned to face him. He was clearly nervous.

“I don’t want ‘more,’ I only want you. Wherever we go will be our home. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that, Anders.”

Anders lightly moved onto the bed, then collapsed into Nathaniel’s arms, so the side of his head was pressed against Nathaniel’s chest, so he could listen to his heart and feel his strong, muscular arms encircle him. Nate lightly ran his hand down Anders’ spine, making him shiver.

“I know, but thanks. This part is new to me.”

“You gave me a second chance. This… is yours. I want you to feel safe.”

“I have to cure you, first. I have to make you better.”

“It’s nothing! I can hardly feel it! Just… don’t lie on that leg, okay?”

Anders nodded, adjusting his own legs accordingly. “Emra’s going to wonder what’s keeping us.”

“Let her wonder,” Nate insisted, dragging Anders up into another kiss. Only a few short months ago, he had been scared to death of mages. Now he was more than happy to follow one to the ends of Thedas, to the only place where those with magic outnumbered those without, and he was not afraid of anything anymore. 

 

***

 

Sigrun lightly glided a fur blanket across Velanna's shoulder. She would never have admitted it, but Sigrun could tell she was cold. Her teeth were chattering and she kept shivering. She held onto the corners and wrapped them close around her neck. No protest was a good sign. Sigrun joined her, sitting down on a log they had pushed in front of the campfire. The Warden-Commander and Oghren were still busy eating. Justice, who never ate or slept, was out scouting, but occasionally made appearances, reporting that he had found nothing save a few squirrels or livestock. His cold dead gray eyes and hollow face, fast decomposing, were sometimes a troubling sight. Sigrun thought it would be alright if he only smiled—but he never smiled. 

Velanna could not help but hold herself partially responsible for what had happened with the Architect. She wanted revenge on the Architect, too, but... for a moment she had almost been tempted to buy into his sales pitch and join Nathaniel. She would have agreed to anything if it meant saving Seranni, anything at all, even… but no, not that. Not if it meant betraying her friends. 

_Friends?_ That word still felt strange to her.

"You didn't have to," Velanna said quietly, feathers still ruffled. Her hair was in disarray, and a blond curl had fallen loose out of her ribbon and obscured part of her face. Her brilliant eyes shone, thoughtful and inquisitive, on a drawn face, lost in thought. The winding patterns tattooed across her body were just as mysterious to Sigrun as the canvas they adorned. Sigrun had never asked what they meant. She knew Velanna loved a story, and if those markings had a story to tell, she would get around to telling it sooner or later, when the time was right.

"I know!" Sigrun said, all smiles. She was the only one smiling now. "But I wanted to. As soon as we're back at the Keep, I'll ask Wade to make you a nice warm pair of leather boots, special."

"I... have never worn boots before,” Velanna admitted. 

Elves had devised their own ways of keeping warm in the winter, or on cold nights, but seldom wore boots. Some hunters and warriors wore them, yes, but the average Dalish elf wore footwraps instead. It was easier to walk, run, and climb, when you could move your toes, and feel solid earth beneath your feet. Boots looked restrictive, and uncomfortable, by comparison. Besides, she liked feeling close to Nature. Still, it was getting colder, and she had no intention of refusing Sigrun’s kind offer. 

_Kindness,_ another word she was still warming up to. Even among her Clan, when she still had a Clan, she had few friends. If anyone other than her Keeper or Seranni was kind to her, it was usually out of a sense of duty, nothing else. Kindness always had an ulterior motive. _‘I’ll be nice to the Keeper’s Apprentice, so she can slip me a potion or poultice or two, or perform a spell for me, or tell the Keeper I’m too sick to hunt today…’_

"Just for a few weeks, until the weather warms up. I don't want you catching a cold before we get a chance to celebrate our victory!" Sigrun explained, optimistic as ever. She was speaking hypothetically, of course. They had no way of knowing if the Keep was still standing, or if Amaranthine had recovered. They had left the rest of their army behind to fight the Architect directly. The Keep was still a few days journey out. Velanna looked around her at the glum, weary faces of the others. They had won—should they not be celebrating?

"I miss them, too." 

Sigrun's voice called back Velanna's attention. She guessed what was on Velanna's mind without having to ask. They should all be here, Velanna thought, all of the Wardens! But Anders and Nathaniel had both gone missing during the battle. It was hard to say what exactly had happened. There were no bodies, nothing, and no trace of them. Justice and the Warden-Commander insisted on tracking them. Oghren and Sigrun were more hesitant. Velanna still had not gotten an explanation out of Sigrun as to why she was so quick to presume the worst.

"We should keep looking. Before we go back. We might find... something, anything! I'm a trained tracker, I could look for them myself—" Velanna began, emphatically, but Sigrun abruptly cut her off.

"Velanna," Sigrun said softly as she reached out and took hold of her arm. "I saw them leave. Wherever they are now... they're safe."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?!" Velanna leapt to her feet, or tried to, but Sigrun’s hold on her arm tightened as she tensed, shooting a worried glance in the direction of the Commander. Thankfully, she took no notice of them, and still had her back turned, arguing with Oghren about the state of the fish he cooked. They were safely out of earshot—so long as Velanna kept her voice down.

"I was not sure where they were going, or if they'd be coming back. I thought... maybe they didn't want to be followed. If that were true, I figured it might be easier for them if the Commander—and every one else—thought they died in action; as heroes.”

She blinked several times, trying to get her head around such a bizarre explanation. Sigrun sighed.

"Anders was afraid of what would happen to Nathaniel if the Wardens found out he sided with the Architect. He rescued him."

"The Commander would not desert him! She would forgive him if he asked her to!" _She forgave us._

"But would Nathaniel be able to forgive himself?" Sigrun shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Anders wanted out since day one, he was just playing along because he thought this was a better life than the one he left behind, but he was never a fan of the Deep Roads or fighting darkspawn. It was only a matter of time before he left."

"You really believe that?" 

Velanna and Anders had… never seen eye to eye, yes, and he had no reason to confide in her as if they were friends, but… they had spent a lot of time together, and had so many friends in common, Velanna had mistakenly thought she knew him. He always seemed so happy, so carefree, smiling and laughing… and he was so grateful when the Commander saved him that Velanna assumed he was happy here. 

"Nathaniel was the only thing keeping him here."

"What? Why?"

Sigrun shrugged her shoulders.

"Nathaniel loved him."

Velanna looked surprised. This was news to her. There had been one moment, in the tavern, when she saw them whispering together, and Anders took Nathaniel’s hand, but… he had said it meant nothing. Anders, Velanna decided, was not at all like Sigrun. He could never say what he meant. He was too afraid. 

"Are you sure we're talking about the same Wardens?!" Velanna asked, incredulous. "They were always fighting like wild cats!"

"There was a time when we fought, too."

Velanna went quiet and stared at the fire, pulling the fur blanket tightly around her shoulders like an oversized shawl.

"Do you think they're happy?" Velanna asked, still gazing intently into the dancing flames. Sigrun nodded.

"They looked happy."

"I think I understand what you're trying to do for them, and I think... it is very sweet of you to protect them."

"Oh?" Sigrun replied, raising one brow. Velanna rarely gave compliments.

"Even if it is foolish, expecting them to be able to fend for themselves in the wilderness.”

"You've got me there!" 

Velanna brought up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, still watching the fire. She finally lifted her head, and turned it to face Sigrun, who was at her shoulder. Velanna knew she would be; she could feel her near, hear the soft sound of her breathing. Elves had very good hearing and sight; nothing escaped her notice. She looked away, and down at her hand. She stretched out the fingers her gloves could barely cover, slender, spindly, crooked fingers. She had always been self-conscious about her hands, her feet, her ears, her nose, her scrawny frame… everything. Seranni was always the beautiful one. Seranni’s shadow was hard to fill. Velanna might have grown jealous of her, if they were not such good friends. She might have grown jealous, because Seranni was always chosen first, for everything from hunting patrols to dances, and she was always chosen last, begrudgingly, because the Keeper scolded the others for not ‘including’ Velanna. Velanna had hated that. She would rather not be chosen at all, and stay home, then be chosen out of pity. 

She looked at the ring, which glinted green and amber in the light of the bonfire. Sigrun had chosen her first. Sigrun had made her feel beautiful, and wanted, in a way she had never experienced before. Sigrun may have appeared a little rough to the others, especially with her swords out and blood-soaked armour, but she was capable of such profound tenderness and warmth. Velanna found that hard, at first, to reconcile and accept. She kept Sigrun at a safe distance those first few weeks because she could not accept that Sigrun was genuinely that honest, caring, and optimistic, but now that they had gotten to know each other better, now that she had seen Sigrun at both her strongest and her most vulnerable, she saw… it was all true. Every word she said she meant. When she said ‘I love you,’ or ‘I care,’ she meant every syllable. Velanna was bad at trusting, bad at talking, bad at everything but fighting and magic—she had spent too long in the wilderness, with only her spellbooks and trees for company, to know how to blend into society, or converse with ease. She had been a little jealous of the way the other Grey Wardens could talk so casually, joking and laughing, even in the midst of a battle, even in the midst of tragedy. Little by little, however, she was learning to let go of the past, to smile and laugh, to find beauty, hope, and joy, even in the midst of chaos. Little by little, she was starting to see Sigrun was the reason why.

"Do you think we could be happy?" She asked, tentatively, studying the ring and every line in that emerald, as if some secret message were hidden within that rock which only she could decipher.

"Why not? We're in this for life, I guess,” Sigrun said with a shrug, as if it did not matter that they had signed their lives away to the Wardens, and gone through with the joining ritual, without ever stopping to consider the consequences, without really knowing what those consequences would be until it was too late. The full reality of their lives had not yet dawned on them. They were still in the honeymoon stage of Grey Wardenhood; all the strength, the power, the insatiable hunger, and the terrible nightmares which come from drinking tainted blood, but none of the corruption.


	12. Epilogue for a Dalish Witch

The remaining Wardens returned to Vigil's Keep to find it in tatters. A few walls were still standing, yes, and a few guards had survived, but it would take months to repair the damage done by the darkspawn invasion, surging up from below and out from the encircling woods, monstrosities and undead of all sorts and size attacking from all sides. It made the Commander tremble, to see so much desolation, and torn bodies, and blood. Strewn among the bodies of human, elven, and dwarven soldiers were several ogres, who must have taken great effort to kill. The Commanders heart went out to the soldiers who did not survive, who died heroically fighting to defend the Keep. After the wreckage was cleared out, and a memorial service held to honour the dead, she gave honours to the living soldiers who displayed great valour in the Wardens' absence. It was then she announced the disappearance of Nathaniel Howe and Anders—who were both missing, presumed dead. If they did survive, as she suspected, they would have had at least two weeks to run away. She tried everything to find them, over the coming months, exhausting ever resource and contact at her disposal, desperate to hear news of her former friends and comrades, even if it only came in the form of an anonymous letter with no return address which simply said: 'they are alive.' She had no intention of labeling them as deserters, and no wish to punish them, as another Commander might, for running away, or siding with the enemy. She knew why Nathaniel sided with the Architect, she knew it was because he thought it was the only way to end the Blights for good. She would not hold that against him—although it still hurt her to think he could run away, and turn his back on the Wardens, without so much as a 'good-bye.'

Oghren was the first to take to the Deep Roads as a 'Senior Gray Warden,' but he went with gusto, leading an army of fresh recruits. He often returned to the surface to see his wife and child, or have a pint or ten with the Warden-Commander and her soldiers, before finally taking to the Deep Roads for good, following his Calling. The Warden-Commander stayed to oversee the reconstruction of the Keep, and enlisted the help of her 'Crow' Zevran to help her train new recruits for the Grey Wardens, before eventually departing with him to steal a few last years of adventuring before the Calling claimed her, too, or a cure could be found. With Kristoff avenged, and the Blight ended, Justice simply disappeared one day, and was never seen or heard of again. Everyone presumed it was because Justice had grown tired of the living world and returned to the Fade, either by choice or because his quickly deteriorating host could no long support him. Sigrun and Velanna left shortly after the Architect's defeat in search of Seranni. The Commander, Oghren, and Justice had all offered to accompany them, but Velanna refused their offers, saying it was better she go alone. It was only with great persistence Sigrun managed to convince Velanna to take her with her. Sigrun, after all, knew the Deep Roads better than anyone else on this side of the surface, having spent several years living in them. She sold herself as a useful ally, knowing if she played the 'I want to go because I'm worried about your safety' card, Velanna would have refused point blank. They searched the Deep Road tirelessly for months before Velanna found any sign of Seranni. When she eventually stumbled upon her corpse, she was devastated—but not alone. Sigrun was still by her side.

A sob rent itself from Velanna which was so loud, so desperate, it made Sigrun shiver. She moved forward and grabbed hold, instinctively, of Velanna's hand, then peered down into the pool of shadows. There was an Elvhen corpse whose face twisted away from them, but there was no doubting whose face it was. Sigrun had only seen her once, in the Architect's prison, but even she could recognise the hair, tattoos, and armour. Velanna was shaking. There was no doubt that Seranni was dead, and had been dead for a long time. All life had gone out of her features, and she was lying in a pool of dry blood. There were several other corpses scattered about, some in even worse conditions, but she looked as if she had fallen without much of a fight. She was clasping a gold bracelet in her right hand. Sigrun lost hold of Velanna's hand as she fell to her knees and dissolved into tears in front of her sister's body. Sigrun raced to her side, and tried to comfort her, but Velanna shrugged her off.

"She died fighting!" Sigrun insisted.

"She wanted to die. She lost her reason for living with the Architect. Now I've lost mine. I must join her. I belong at her side."

"Don't say that, Velanna! You know that's not true! She wanted you to live. She wanted you to find your own purpose, outside of the Clan, outside of the Wending Woods. She wanted you to be happy."

"You don't know my sister," Velanna answered, shaking her head. Suddenly, everything felt so heavy. Even just standing felt impossible. She knew her legs could not carry her any further. She had been wandering through these endless caverns for weeks without rest, without sunlight, without end, preserved by hope, when rations fell short. Signs she was on the right track had started to appear a few days ago, signs which renewed her hope, which renewed her strength. Now... it had all come to nothing but a dead end.

"I know the woman she made you. Come, we can take her body topside, give her a proper Elvhen funeral. We can sing a song for her, the one you told me about."

While they were travelling through the tunnels, to keep Velanna's mind off Seranni and the hopelessness of their goal, and the closeness of the walls—Velanna was growing more claustrophobic by the day—Sigrun asked her for stories about her Clan, about the Dalish, about Ancient Elves and the Old Gods. Velanna had no end of stories. Sigrun told her to write them down in the journal the Commander gave them. Sigrun told her once she was finished, once she had filled in the last page, they could try to get them published. The world should know these stories, and the true history of the Dalish, she had insisted.

"You can't sing," Velanna said, smiling faintly through her tears. She shook her head, arms crossed over her sister, forehead pressed against her arms.

Sigrun kept close, but did not touch her shoulder again. She could see Velanna needed space, but did not want to leave her completely alone, or even outside of arm's reach, for fear she might hurt herself in her grief.

"You don't really want to die, do you?" Sigrun asked in a quiet voice, once Velanna had finally run out of tears. At least an hour had passed of them sitting in perfect silence. Velanna gave a start, and lifted her head, as if only just remembering she was not alone.

"There are no darkspawn left to fight, no sister left to avenge. What else can I do? Where else can I go? I can't believe I'll never see her again, I'll never—" Velanna was starting to cry all over again, which only made her more angry. Sigrun's heart was breaking. She edged forward, and tried a second time to comfort her. She lightly took hold of her arm. Velanna raised herself up slightly, and Sigrun found an opening in which to fold her in her arms. She laid her head against Velanna's shoulder.

"This is the Deep Roads talking. It gets to the best of us. You don't really believe being a Warden counts for nothing, do you? The Wardens ended the Blight!"

Velanna grimaced. She pushed herself back a little from Seranni, and crossed her legs. Sigrun moved slightly to accomodate Velanna's shifting position, but kept her close.

"Which we may have started. Not us, but... you know what the Architect said. It's only a matter of time before there is another Blight, or another Architect bent on destroying the world. Why should we be the one's who save the world? This world is full of humans and Templars who do not see a Grey Warden when they look at me, only an elf mage. You know who stopped the Blight? Two elves, two mages, a dwarf, a qunari, and one foolish human with no magic—but the world quickly forgets the debts it owes its heroes. City elves are still forced to live in Alienages—unless they want the 'privilege' of serving humans for the rest of their lives, as servants scarcely better than slaves. Mages are still feared and hated and locked up in Circles or made Tranquil 'for their own good,' dwarves and qunari are still scorned and mocked by humans, and you know who sits on the throne? That one foolish human with no magic, the only person who got anything out of this whole mess, because noble humans always get their just rewards—and the saddest part is he's not even grateful! He never wanted to be King of Ferelden! The Commander told me so, herself—she forced his hand, told him it was the only way to keep the peace, told him it was for his own good. What did she get? They forgot her name quickly enough. All she is to them is an... emblem, an idea, they don't see her for what she is, they don't see she's just a person, like you and me, flesh and blood!"

Velanna gave a bitter laugh and shook her head. Sigrun pulled back and gently ran a hand through her hair. It fell free of its ribbon, and spread out in a halo around her face. Sigrun smiled meekly at her, and continued gently combing her hair, trying to settle her, trying to console her, knowing all the while it was probably a futile gesture.

"An elf is the Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey. That has to count for something. That has to make at least one or two humans stop in their tracks and rethink the way they treat us."

Sigrun said 'us' meaning non-humans, but she knew she was in no position to compare her plight with the plight elves and mages faced. Dwarves were... a novelty to humans, rarely seen on the surface, but they did not have the same long, dark history elves shared with humans. 

"You want to go back. What for? They have probably forgotten all about us, the way they forgot about Anders and Nathaniel when they disappeared. They'll say the Calling took us, and be glad to be rid of us!"

"I don't care what they say. It doesn't matter. I never wanted to be a hero, but I did want glory and honour once; that meant something to me. We never had much, my family, but we had each other. We had stories, too. They were not as nice as yours, no, but... my grandfather used to tell me stories, on his knee, about our ancestors, about paragons who won glory in battle. I always wanted to be a great warrior like them. That's why I first took up the blade! I trained every day, in secret, I'd find a nice quiet corner and practice, slashing at anything that moved, perfecting my footwork, honing my skills and strength. I kept hoping that one day I'd be discovered, someone would visit the underside of Orzahammer and see me there, training, and go: _"this girl has a future!"_ and give me my first break, my first chance to prove myself. When it happened, I was over the Moon! I thanked the Ancestors, and raced home like my feet were on fire! I did not hesitate for a moment before leaving behind my family, my home, everything familiar, everything safe, to follow this stranger into a new life, because I thought any life had to be better than the one I was leaving behind. Then I followed him, and you know what I found? Not an honourable life, winning glory in battle, but a life spent cutting purses, or putting 'the fright' into worried shopkeepers. I was told it was all a duster was good for, so I got used to it. After awhile, I even began to like it—at least I was not letting my sword arm go to waste, and the danger of it was thrilling."

"You always liked a challenge."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Sigrun shot back, quickly, with her signature winning smile. To her surprise, Velanna had gone quite silent, and was no longer frowning, although she still refused to meet her eyes, and still seemed lost in thought.

"The point I'm trying to make is... I didn't like that life, really. What I wanted was to be a warrior, not a thief. I found that with the Legion—a way to win glory and honour, a way to defend my people, a way to make my useless duster life matter... and I did. I gave them several years of my life before I left to become a Warden. And you know what else I learned? Name's don't count for nothing. When you first join the Legion, you have a 'funeral,' right? You have to 'die' to join the Legion, you have to say goodbye to your old life, to your family, to your home, to your friend, and even to your name. You're given a clean slate. All you are is as good as your sword; nothing more, nothing less. We had a rule in the legion; no one ever spoke about their past. We had no way of telling if the person fighting alongside us started life as a noble or a duster, or if they were once the worst criminal or the greatest hero, and yet we would still be honoured to die fighting with them, because we were all brothers and sisters who shared the same purpose and were working towards the same goal. It's the same with the Wardens, isn't it? It doesn't really matter, at the end of the day, whether or not history remembers our names—what matters is the people we helped and the war we ended. We gave Thedas a future."

"So we saved the world. Where do we go from here?"

"I don't care where we go, Velanna, as long as you're with me."

"We might never make it back to the surface. It's a few days walk. We might run out of food. You stand a better chance without me," Velanna explained. She was being pragmatic, now. She had stepped back from her earlier outburst of emotion; she had calmed the fire in her heart; but there was still sadness in her voice and in her eyes. Sigrun wished there was more she could say, more she could do; but she had stopped believing in miracles. She knew it would take time for Velanna to come to terms with the loss of her sister, to find a new purpose and a new way. All Sigrun needed was to convince Velanna to give herself time to heal.

"I don't want to lose you. I don't know if it's fate, or chance, that we met when we did, but now that we have... I don't ever want to lose you. Do you understand?"

Their first meeting had been... unconventional. Velanna had been wary of her at first. Velanna was wary of everyone at first. She was still so full of fire, so sharp and wild, always flashing her teeth, like a cornered dog. The others made it worse. They moved too quickly, or asked too much. Sigrun was the only one who tried to understand her, who listened, who endured her fire without fear or scorn. Sigrun was so patient and gentle when she wanted to be. Velanna turned to face her, and Sigrun lifted her head. They were sitting side-by-side now.

"Velanna, I love you!"

"Sigrun..."

When Velanna said her name, it was like an arrow through the heart. It pinned her to the spot. 

Velanna reached out and covered Sigrun's hand with hers, then leant forward and kissed her on the lips. 

"I'm not going anywhere. I love you, too."

Sigrun pulled back, kissed her on the forehead, and enveloped her in her arms. Velanna was no longer shaking, no longer afraid, no longer alone. She had lost her sister, and her Clan, and the Wardens, but she was no longer alone. Home is wherever the people you love are; wherever you are loved. She had learned that from her Keeper, one of her many aphorisms. It used to make her roll her eyes, but now... well, maybe there was some truth in it after all. Maybe there was still more she could learn.

"I know. Now, let's get you top-side! You're a flower; you need the sunlight."

"Where will we go?"

"Somewhere with a beautiful garden, four walls, and a roof overhead. I can only handle so much sky."

"We can't just walk away. What about the Calling?"

"So we won't live forever! Who needs forever? We still have ten or twenty years ahead of us, if we stay out of trouble. I can't think of a better way to spend them than with you." She kissed Velanna again, and Velanna edged back, a smile spreading across her lips like a wildfire. "Careful, Velanna! You almost smiled!" Velanna shook her head, pushed Sigrun back. 

"First... I have to give her a memorial service. It's what she would have wanted, what..." the glint of gold caught her eye for the first time, as she turned to look back at her sister. She walked over, bent down, and pulled free the chain-linked bracelet dangling from her fingers. "I know this bracelet! It belonged to our Mother. Do you think I should keep it, or bury it with Seranni?"

"Keep it. Sometimes... it's good to hold on to the past, even when the memories hurt. It's the only way we can learn, and grow. That's why your stories are so important."

"You think so?"

"I think once you're finished every man, woman, and child in Thedas will want a copy!"

Velanna smiled a second time. Sigrun was beginning to believe in miracles.

"I will immortalize them both—I will make sure all of Thedas knows their names."

Sigrun beamed with pride, and Velanna simply beamed. Sigrun put it down to fire magic.

With Velanna, it was usually fire magic.


End file.
